Close Encounters 11
by chezchuckles
Summary: For Your Eyes Only. Spy Castle and Beckett return to New York.
1. Chapter 1

**Close Encounters 11: For Your Eyes Only**

* * *

for those of you  
who waited

* * *

Kate Beckett stepped out onto the back patio alone, closed her eyes to feel the soft touches of Rome's sunlight against her skin.

She'd gained five pounds over the past week, holed up in their Italian apartment, and it was time to finally head home. Castle had gone to pack the last of their luggage into the rental car that would take them to the little landing strip outside of the city, but she wanted this moment to say good-bye.

She'd spent the last nine days shoring up her defenses, she and Castle patching the holes in her walls with the cement of good food, good love... Also a lot of sarcasm and tenderness, his hand in hers, the cool nights with the windows open and his words in her ear as they laid in bed together. He told her stories to banish the nightmares and the rhythm of his voice kept her in calm, steady seas. They made love to that same motion, came together like breakers on the shore, drained and washed clean.

Her bodily systems had been so messed up at first, and her heart so broken, that they hadn't thought about anything other than having no barriers between them, nothing other than each other, that connection they had both needed. Affirmation found in the press of skin.

And then a few days ago, they'd realized that they'd stopped actively preventing it even if they weren't really _trying._

To get pregnant.

They weren't trying.

And she wasn't pregnant. She knew that much, because her body wasn't back to normal yet, and her cycle was pretty much nonexistent. She couldn't, and she wasn't, but-

Kate opened her eyes and smiled out at the garden, the smell of basil so strong that it made her stomach growl.

She could eat. That was saying something.

She shifted forward and ran her fingers through the basil plant, the twin leaves bowing to her touch. She couldn't help plucking a fresh shoot and holding it to her nose, the familiar scent that brought to mind the golden sunlight and her husband cooking in the kitchen, the vivid expression in his eyes when she'd been able to eat a whole meal without pause.

She heard the door slide open and turned her head to see Castle coming through, a smile of his own gracing his lips as he looked at her. "Taking some for the road?"

She glanced down at the sprig and shrugged. "I love the way it smells. Maybe I'll use it as a bookmark, remind me of this place."

"Well, we're packed. You ready?"

She let her teeth work at her bottom lip, watching him because she could, because he was here, and so was she, and it felt so good here. "Just gonna take a moment. Soak it up."

Castle took a step back like he was going to give her some privacy, his fingers on the sliding door.

But Kate held her hand back towards him, wriggled her fingers with the sunlight licking her shoulders. "Don't go. Stay out here with me."

Something powerful rippled over his face, something intense, and he reached for her hand like he was in awe. "Kate," he rasped. "You're a dream."

She didn't understand it, but she did. It was this place. She loved them in this place. Loved herself. She didn't know what New York would bring, what finally being home might do to her.

But with Castle at her side, his hand still strong around hers, Kate scanned the garden, the riot of green herbs and flowering trees, and then beyond the little patio to the world outside. And she knew she could do it.

* * *

In the airport in London, so close now, Castle didn't try to push her as they walked towards their gate; he did keep his hand at her lower back though, fingers running up and down her spine, glad for the briefest of touches.

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, her lashes haloed by the light coming through the terminal's floor-to-ceiling windows. He didn't think it was hesitance or nerves. Instead it was more like a certain and closed-off strength, a way of keeping herself firmly in control, balanced, poised.

He wasn't sure if he could still reach her through that wall, but he didn't want to try. Not this moment. When they were alone and safe, when they were home, finally home, he'd bring her back to him.

Kate made a motion towards the massive windows, the blue sky beyond. "Lucky to have clear skies in the spring," she said.

He nodded, giving the view only a partial glance, returning his gaze to her. "Worried about turbulence?"

"Wasn't until you said it." She gave him a crooked tilt of her eyebrow that passed for irony, and then she shrugged. "I'm just grateful for the warmth."

Since Russia. "At least it was spring there too," he murmured. It could have been so much worse. She hadn't any lasting damage from frostbite; even though the nights had been brutal, the Russian steppe had been transitioning to planting season. They'd passed so many hay fields on their way out that he'd never be able to look at farmland the same again.

"What do the say? March goes in like a lion-?"

"Out like a lamb?" he chuckled. "Yeah. You got pounced on by March."

Kate laughed as well, her eyes grass green, spring green. "But April brought you."

His smile dropped from his face, but he slid his fingers from her elbow to her hand, taking it with only a mild clutch of panic. He tried to keep it from her though, tried to stow it away. This was about Kate.

"And I was so glad to see you," she sighed. "Even if I had no idea what month it was-"

Her sudden silence, the jerk of her hand against his had him slowing down, heart heavy, and finally looking back at her.

"Oh God," she whispered.

He came for her, grabbing her by the shoulders and tugging her out of the stream of people. "Kate, no-"

"Your birthday."

"I got my wish. You're here."

"Oh, God, Castle."

"It's okay," he whispered fiercely, running a hand up to squeeze the back of her neck. "I'm okay. I was unconscious for it anyway, I'm sure."

"But it was your _birthday_." Her forehead crashed into his and he really hoped this wasn't what did it, wasn't the thing to break her, because it was just a damn day.

"Well, the world played a nasty joke on me when I woke up, but at least I got back to you."

Her arms came around him for a crushing grip, her mouth painting his cheeks, his eyelids, like he was the one who needed comfort.

"Hey, now, love," he murmured, petting her hair, rubbing his thumbs over her cheekbones. She wasn't crying, at least. "Hey. It's okay. I'm okay."

She lifted away from him, and her eyes were shiny so that the green was the bright sunlight after a rainy day in the park, but she gave him a smile and gently leaned in to sip at his lips. Such a soft kiss that he felt his guts washing away.

"We'll have a re-do," she murmured. "Celebrate your birthday at home." She pulled back only to come in once more for another kiss. "Come on, Rick. Let's get there already."

He smiled, wanted to kiss her forehead and her cheeks, worship that unceasing and indomitable spirit, but instead he let her turn him around, draw him down the concourse. Their joined hands bumped each other's thighs as they walked, but it was an easy gait, and her mood lifted, the haze burning off under the sunlight that streamed through the windows and the relentless crush of people buzzed with energy for their travels.

Kate stopped at their gate and checked her boarding pass, glanced to him. "This is it."

He nodded.

She scanned the crowd, her eyes taking in everything, and then she nodded towards a space of empty floor in front of the window. "There?"

"Yeah. Looks good." _I'm okay; I promise. I'm okay._

She seemed to receive the message because she let go of his hand and shifted towards the crowded gate. He followed Kate down the narrow aisles of filled seats, stepping over a suitcase, maneuvering around a little boy. Kate finally stopped near a broad window and her cheeks were illuminated with sun; she turned and smiled that soft, barely there smile.

This time though, he thought it touched the corners of her eyes, thought maybe the flick of her hand towards him meant more.

He reached her side and laced their fingers together again, smiled at her and let it say everything.

Her thumb brushed over the back of his hand and then she slowly sat down on the floor to wait, bringing him with her since there was no room in the chairs. With all that light spilling around her, she looked aflame - like a candle - and he knew he was right. His only wish had come true.

* * *

Castle buckled his seatbelt and glanced over to make sure she was still with him. Kate was tightening the belt across her lap and brushing two fingers over her hip where he knew the scar had to be. Grazed by a bullet in a motel room during a shoot out with Vadim - a lifetime ago. How odd that the tragedy and darkness of that mission had been eclipsed by a span of thirteen days.

Her face turned towards the windows - he'd bought them first class tickets home - and she tucked her hair behind her ear once more. It was beginning to be a thing, he realized. Comfort, a chance to pause and regroup, a mental breath. The one tell on her otherwise stoic face.

He reached between their seats and almost snagged her hand. Almost. But he let his arm drop back to the blue of the cushion, just watched her. She folded her hands in her lap and sat erect, as if she couldn't quite relax. Couldn't quite settle.

She turned her head then and pierced him with a gaze that saw too much. Her eyes softened and her shoulders eased; she reached out and wrapped her hand around his knee.

"How are you?" she murmured.

He huffed and shook his head, but he took a second to actually let it rise to the surface - how he was. He wasn't that great, actually; he might be more nervous than she was. But he wanted to be home already, wanted to have her safe behind their door, their alarm, where he could shield her.

"I'm good," he said finally. "I want to get there."

She didn't nod, didn't agree, only studied him with those too knowing eyes. Her hand on his knee squeezed, and so he slipped his fingers under hers and held on. She watched him still, tenderness and love and a haze of things he couldn't understand in her face. He lifted the back of her hand to his lips and kissed her, closed his eyes to breathe the scent of her skin. Honey and cream, the faint scent of basil from the back patio.

"And you?" he whispered.

Her fingers spread from his grip and stroked along his cheek, a spark now in her eyes. "I'll make it."

His heart lifted despite himself and he smiled back at her, deeply, felt the catch of it tightening in his throat.

"All I ask," he rasped, nodding once.

And then the plane pushed back from the gate.

* * *

Kate pressed her fingertips to her lips and inhaled the scent of Italian herbs still lingering on her skin. Her elbow jolted on the armrest as she rode through the turbulence, surprised at how it got to her. It would be just her luck that they'd fall out of the sky now that she was so close. The window shade was up, the clouds outside that concrete-soup-grey of a storm developing, and the plane jolted again as it hit an air pocket.

They were fifteen minutes from the airport at JFK. Fifteen minutes from landing. Being home. Her stomach dropped out from under her as the plane shivered once more, but she refused to believe it would keep her from getting home.

She was going home. Nothing could stop her.

Beside her - of course - Castle was completely at ease. Nothing fazed him. He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow in question, but she shook her head.

She was fine.

The pilot came over the intercom and announced their descent into New York airspace; the seatbelt light came on. Kate pushed her head back against the seat and lowered her lashes, breathed through the sensation of falling.

Castle's hand came to rest over hers in her lap. The heaviness of his arm against her thigh and stomach did something to settle her that she hadn't realized she needed.

"Castle," she said, opening her eyes to him.

His hand squeezed around hers.

"Thank you."

He didn't ask why, didn't pretend he didn't know. He just nodded and gave her a small smile, went back to the book he'd swiped from her carryon and had begun to read. She could smell the basil leaf he was using as a bookmark and it quieted her rabbit heart.

The plane jolted against the tarmac, the push and screech of braking, and the breath leaked out of her lungs. Then the plane slowed, rolling at a milder speed, a controlled, hobbled thing once more.

"New York," she whispered, couldn't help the grin that slid across her face and widened, like a crack opening up.

"We're home," he said then.

She turned her head to him and beamed, making him laugh, making him alight with her relief, and then he reached across the seats and wrapped her in a tight embrace.

* * *

Even with their suitcase loaded into the trunk of the taxi cab, and his urgent need to just get her home, she managed to convince him to stop for Chinese at her favorite place. From the street, he could tell Haun Palace was crowded - the line would be long even for take out. Kate left him in the back of the cab to go in and order while the taxi circled the block again and again until she appeared with their food.

"Proud of you," she whispered when she slid in beside him. "You didn't text me once to see if I was still alive in there."

He grunted and shook his head, elbowed her to take the bag from her hands. "I'm managing my anxiety, thank you very much."

"You're doing so good, baby."

He gave up and laughed, leaning back in the cab as it headed for their drop-off point. Now more than ever he was grateful for his paranoia because it meant he could be certain that their address was still so clandestine, off-books, that no one could get to them. Even though it required them getting dropped at subway stations and switching lines with a suitcase in tow, he didn't care.

Peace of mind was priceless.

"Guess what?" she said then.

"Hm?"

"I'm starving," she laughed, casting sly eyes towards him.

He could take it. And he could dish it out too. "Well, you'd know what that felt like, wouldn't you?"

She burst with laughter then, collapsing a little into his side, and he marveled at the transformation that had taken place the moment their plane had landed at JFK. Light. Loose. Happy. Not quite giggling, but the laugh was infectious.

She'd wanted to be home more fervently than he had, despite needing to stop in Rome to recover.

"I'm proud of you," he said then, seriously, stroking his hand down her arm and squeezing. "For stopping us in Rome because you needed it, even if you didn't want it. That takes guts, Kate."

She shifted back against the seat, her smile fading, but she nodded and kept her eyes on him. And he realized, like an idiot, that her joke when she'd gotten back inside the cab hadn't been a joke.

She was proud of him too.

"We've come a long way, baby," she said, smiling slowly at him. "And seriously, I really am starving. You need to get me home and feed me, Castle."

He glanced through the windshield towards the congested avenue ahead of them, the long night and the neon, the people crowding as they snaked at the outskirts of Time Square. She wanted to get home, and they could afford to shave a few minutes here and there.

So he leaned in to the driver. "Hey, actually. Changed my mind. Drop us at St John's Park," he said.

Kate pressed her shoulder to his and put her mouth to his ear. "Castle. That's only blocks from us."

He nodded. "I want to get home. You mind?"

She studied him a moment longer, the lights sliding across her face as the traffic opened up. "No. I don't mind at all."

* * *

Their fingers tangled as they walked up Broome Street. She kept marveling at the sidewalk, the houses closed up for the night, the trees in their square planters. A different world. She was a woman who'd forgotten how to transition between them, spy and civilian, but she could find it again, that ease Castle had always had wherever he went.

"You wanna do the honors?" he said then. He had their bag over his shoulder as they walked, and while she knew he didn't love how conspicuous it was, he'd gotten her home rather quickly. Compared to their usual routine.

She took the keys from his hand. "Yeah. Love to."

Their stoop, the flat steps leading to their front door were right before them. The blue-toned brick wrapped the narrow street-profile of their house, while the white shutters with their scalloped edges made it singular on the block. The late evening twilight had framed it with nostalgia, and she found herself holding her breath.

Castle shrugged under the strap of the bag and she mounted the steps with him at her back. The keys jangled in her hand when she turned to look at him.

"The alarm?"

"Code's the alternate. We lost our phones, so I switched it when we were in Germany. Just got online with a secure laptop. You remember the number?"

"Of course." She couldn't help the amusement that rolled through her, or the way his security procedures soothed something dark still deep inside her. She slotted the key into the lock without hesitation.

The tumblers flipped and she pushed the door open, shouldered her way inside to stand, struck, in the foyer as the alarm pulsed red and waiting, and the sunlight shattered through the stained glass into golds, greens, and blues across the floor.

She was home.

Castle nudged her elbow and she moved almost automatically to the alarm panel, pressed the alternate code - his mother's birthday - into the keypad to disarm the system. She heard him shutting the door behind her and she dropped her keys over the elephant's upraised trunk, the ceramic figure he'd placed on the entry table so long ago.

It smelled like home. Laundry and wood polish and the two of them.

Studying the foyer, she caressed the elephant's head, the sweep of its tusks, and then she turned to Castle with a smile that had to be as radiant as his own.

"Looking good, Mrs. Rodgers," he murmured at her, dropping their bag at the foot of the stairs. He held up their take-out order with his other hand, wriggled his eyebrows. "Ready for dinner and some reality tv?"

She stepped into him, pushed her mouth to his in a kiss, had to come back for another before she could quite leave those satin-soft lips. She felt weary to the bone, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep for another week, but she pushed it aside. "We gonna fool around on the Ugly Couch?" she whispered.

"Heavy petting or all the way?"

"I think you might get lucky," she teased, tilting her head back to look at him. "We'll see what your fortune cookie says."

"Ooh, yes. Prosperous times are right around the corner - in bed."

She laughed at that and slid her arms around him, breathing in deeply, letting her eyes travel the lines of their home, the wood and stone and paint that made up something so central, so essential to her peace. She'd needed Rome, but she'd needed this too. It was strange how her heart could be torn into so many different places, and yet be solidly right here inside this man.

"We'll take it easy tonight," he said softly, a warning. "But I won't say no to messing around."

"And tomorrow we can go pick up my dog?" she whispered, nudging her mouth against his ear.

"Of course. I've missed that dog."

She closed her eyes and took another fortifying breath at his neck, stepped back with her smile now more firmly rooted. "Let's get plates, forks. And some wine. I could really go for a couple bottles."

He shook his head with a tsk to his voice. "A glass, Beckett. You heard what they said. Liver can't handle it."

She shrugged, as if she might not obey, and then turned and dashed for the kitchen.

And to her delight, Castle made chase.

* * *

He caught her at the doorway to the kitchen and hauled her back to his chest, her little shriek of breathless laughter jolting him like a current. He carried her, wriggling ineffectively against his chest, to sit her up on the counter, bracketing her hips on either side with his fists. Her stubborn and amused chin tilted up as she looked down her nose at him, so he took a kiss from her mouth, a deeper one, kept her hips under his hands even as she twined her legs around his waist.

She felt good. Her grip was weaker than he liked, but she was on her way.

Kate nibbled his bottom lip and her stomach growled, made them both laugh. "What'd you do with our food, super spy?"

He startled and glanced to his empty hands - or rather, hands filled with the sharp edges of her hipbones. "Oops."

Her laughter was a hum as she unwound her legs from his. "Go find it."

"I think I dropped the bag in the foyer." He grinned and came back for one more kiss, the richness of her lips drawing him, and then he went to look for their food. He found their take-out on the entry table, fortunately still in its bag, and scooped it up, calling out to her.

"I got it. Get our plates and stuff?" He opened the bag in their living room and started setting out boxes of food - lo mein, fried rice, steamed veggies, shrimp and pork and chicken. She'd gotten a ton of food and it made him happy to see it, happy to know she was so hungry - so eager to eat - that she'd picked one of nearly everything on their menu. All her dreams at night about milkshakes and Starbucks, double chocolate muffins and spaghetti - he'd done his best to fulfill. Chinese had been her latest.

He remembered his father being so completely appalled when Castle had first started eating this stuff, his regimen diet going right off the rails because of her. Beckett would drag him to Huan's and they'd order a couple of things and swap, share food, battle for it on her couch until chopsticks were brandished and she was wrestling him for the last fortune cookie. Back when they'd first partnered up, back when it was Remy's veggie burgers for lunch and Huan's for dinner at her apartment so they could work on her mother's case, so he could prove to her how good they could be, how good they already were.

At that moment, Kate came out of the kitchen with her hands full and he jumped up to help her, taking the wine and glasses. He was pleased to see she'd brought bottles of water as well, and she saw him looking pleased because she rolled her eyes and pushed him to sit on the couch.

They'd come such a long way from those dark nights at her place; back then he hadn't even begun to understand just how good it was with her.

Castle poured a single glass of wine for them both and put the bottle back in the kitchen while Kate messed with the television, trying to find a good show. He came back to see her looking distressed, a hand scraped through her hair, a wail coming out of her mouth that made his blood freeze. She turned wild eyes to him.

He had to resist the instinct to reach for his gun.

"Castle, our DVR is full and it stopped recording. We missed _four episodes_."

He stared. "What?"

"You and I haven't been back to our house - together - in so long that the DVR is full. It stopped recording."

Castle let out an explosive breath and sank to the couch, laughing hollowly as his panic crested and drained away. She touched his shoulder, fingers to the back of his neck, came closer.

"Sorry, I'm sorry. I was messing with you."

"It's not full?" he rasped, lifting his head.

"Oh, baby, it's full all right. It's just not that big a deal to miss four... You do realize we really haven't been back here together in months, right? Since the New Year, really. I came back in February, had Sasha with me here alone for a week, and then came out for the op that landed us in Russia. My little sabbatical."

"Shit."

"Uh-huh. We owe Carrie big time."

"We should buy her a car," he huffed. But he'd been floored by her oh-so-casual term _my little sabbatical._ He got gallows humor - he really did - but sometimes Beckett made feel like a pansy.

"At least a car," she agreed, her fingers playing in his hair again, curling around his neck. "But it brings up a good point. We have to cut back on our travel."

"Yeah," he said immediately. "I know. I'd already assumed - before we left - that Russia was going to be one of our last ops for the year. Usually it's two a year for someone in my position, and you're supposed to be working with a handler - which has been me, will only be me-"

"You're cute," she murmured, clearly not thinking he was cute at all. "But I'm not just talking about that."

"What then?" he asked, bewildered as he glanced over at her. She was standing between the couch and the coffee table, the remote in one hand, the other still on his neck and stroking through the hair at his nape. Felt good. If he wasn't pretty sure they were having a serious, far-reaching conversation, he'd close his eyes and lay his head against her thigh. Rest.

"When we have kids."

He jerked to attention. "The moment you get pregnant, you're desked anyway," he said, giving her cautious shrug. "That's just regs."

"And you?" she said, an eyebrow raising.

Uh-oh. "And... me too?"

She nodded. "If I can't come after you... we're not taking the chance. I can't do it, Castle. Let you leave all alone, no back-up."

"I wanted us to quit," he said. "You're the one who wouldn't let me."

"Rick, quitting and taking a backseat in these operations are not the same thing. Neither of us is quitting - the CIA can be a place to effect real change in the world and I'm not giving that up just because I got trapped in Russia for a few days."

"Thirteen days."

She sank to the couch beside him, hanging onto the nape of his neck, squeezing. "Castle. Come on. Don't do this right now, okay? Let's get adjusted to being back at home, let's have crazy practice sex, and we'll work out the wrinkles when they come up."

He reached out and brushed his hand along her abdomen, couldn't help the way it felt so achingly real, so close - and one wrong move was all it took to take that away from them.

She brought him in for a soft kiss, her hand coming down to tangle with his over her flat stomach, her hollowed out stomach, and the way she touched him could almost make him forget just how far off that dream still was.

"Enough, Castle. Enough." She stroked her hand through his hair and pulled him back, made him sit up. "You gotta feed me. First step."

"Then the practice sex?"

"No," she said but she grinned. "Welcome home sex is first."

"I can do that."

"Oh, I know you can."


	2. Chapter 2

**Close Encounters 11**

* * *

She headed towards the bathroom and left him in the bedroom tugging off his jeans, her smirk faint but definitely present. She hadn't eaten as much Chinese as Castle had really wanted her to, but she was full enough. He was still being overly solicitous - bordering on bullying - but they'd managed to keep up the light-hearted feel to their night, the sense of expectation and anticipation. She couldn't wait to be in her own bed, be with him again.

She wasn't paying attention as she stepped over the threshold and onto the cool tile; she was just trying to unzip her jeans and tug them off without tripping in them. She threw her pants towards the laundry hamper and shrugged her shoulders, rolled her head on her neck, and lifted her eyes to the mirror. The sight caught her, made her stop short with that jolt of awareness.

And then Kate burst into laughter, clutching the edge of the sink as she stared into the mirror, her mirth so overwhelming it felt close to hysteria. But it wasn't; it was just relief.

"Hey, now," he called out from the bedroom. "Peals of laughter isn't what I'm going for, Beckett. Don't be laughing while I'm in here naked."

She couldn't help herself; it was giddy and crude and beautiful and a remnant from another life, but it was still hers. She was still the woman who had written on their bathroom mirror in black eye liner _fuck me when you find me. _Years ago, it seemed. Only February though, and she'd been missing him and planning on making his birthday special when she saw him again. She'd wanted to do so much for him.

"Killing the mood here, Kate," he yelled out to her. But she couldn't stop. She was breathless with it; she had to hold on to the sink and gulp down air as the black letters swam before her.

Castle came in to find out what was up with her, stark naked and his hands on his hips, and _oh_, look at that, he'd forgotten all about it too. He must have seen it when he was here right before Russia, when he'd come back to arrange things in March while she'd gone undercover with Vadim, but really, a note on the bathroom mirror had been the last thing on their minds these last few weeks.

His face broke out in delight and he grinned, stalking in behind her, his palms coming to her hips and his mouth brushing the back of her neck. "That was for my birthday, wasn't it?"

She shivered and lifted a hand to his, laced their fingers together over her stomach. He slid his hand towards her belly button, rucking up her shirt, his touch electric, his heat so solid at her back that her knees turned to water.

"Yeah," she husked. "Wanted to make it special. I had plans for you."

His mouth opened at the rise of her shoulder, wet kisses along her neck until he got to her jaw, her whole body vibrating to their mutual need. She slid their joined hands towards the waistband of her panties, teased them both at the border of black silk.

Castle growled at her ear and brought her hips back against him. "Well, I certainly found you."

"Then you know what to do."

* * *

She laid awake in bed and refused - she refused - to give in to the urge to stumble downstairs to the panic room. No. She hadn't spent a week in Rome only to lose all the ground she'd gained just because they were home.

The alarm was set; the password was new - they'd just invented it this evening. But she felt like all her pieces weren't in place yet. Castle was in bed beside her, warm and knocked out, but Sasha was still at Carrie's and their plans for the future seemed to be hurtling toward them at full-speed - and there just wasn't a lot of time.

Bracken. Black. Figuring out what their places should be in the CIA.

No. No panic room.

Besides, in Rome last week when she'd succumbed to the panic, Kate had crawled into the tiny bathroom off the hallway and had felt a thousand times worse for it. She'd been trying not to wake him, trying to keep her breakdown quiet, but the closed up space and the lack of lights, the smell of water in the pipes had been overwhelming.

So she wasn't sure the panic room in their basement was going to make her feel better. Might just end up being Beckett inside actually panicking.

She itched to get out of here, though. She needed it. Needed the pacing, quick movements, kinetic energy, the burn of having nothing left.

She needed to run.

Kate forced herself to turn her head slowly in their bed, saw Castle bathed in the dark light of three a.m., his hair flopping over one eye, nose jutting like an iceberg. She rolled onto her side and breathed, tried to quell her restless legs by the sight of her husband so at ease beside her.

It'd been a long time since she'd seen him relax. And it should have been enough for her, should have settled deep into her heart and made her fingers unfurl, but it was no good. Not even Castle's peace of mind could help her.

She loved him - she did - but she had to get out of here.

Kate slid out of bed quietly, shucking her thin tank top as she went, dropping it to the floor. She didn't turn on a light, just worked silently in the darkness to pull on running shorts, find her athletic socks and sports bra. She pulled the tank top back over the ladder of her ribs, felt the wild punch of her heart below it.

She hesitated at the closet's enclosed space, the darkness, but her tennis shoes and Nike jacket were in there; she had to go in. Kate growled at herself and jerked open the door, sliding inside even as the sweat broke out on her forehead.

She shoved her feet into her laced, neon yellow shoes and grabbed her jacket, zipping it up and hooking her thumbs through the sleeves. Her lungs were burning and she hadn't even started her run.

Or she'd been running a while now.

Kate scooted out of the closet the moment she could, headed for the bedroom door and the hallway beyond, but she paused when the boards creaked under her feet.

She'd promised him. A few years ago when she'd been struggling through therapy and had come to this exact moment, sneaking out of bed, she had promised never to go running in the middle of the night, or too-early in the morning, without telling him first. She had promised.

Beckett hesitated with her hand on the stair railing and then she went back. Inside their bedroom again, she stood over him, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the slack to his face, the deep lines that had been smoothed by sleep and the forgiving moon.

He needed rest and recovery almost as much as she did; he'd spent his reserves getting her out of Russia, but while she was in the hospital and holed up in Rome, he hadn't left her side, hadn't so much as closed his eyes.

But she'd promised him.

She sank to her knees beside the bed and laid her hand over his on his chest, stroked her thumb slowly over his.

"Castle," she said quietly.

He woke immediately, like he'd been expecting it.

* * *

Castle stared at her in the dark of their bedroom; he could barely see the outline of her pale face above him, but he could see those damn shoes.

They glowed. They alone made sense of the darkness.

She wanted out. Running. She had to run.

He didn't know what to say. He knew what he wanted to say but _hell no_ wasn't going to be looked upon kindly by Kate Beckett, and so he didn't say anything. He stared.

"Castle?" she murmured. "I've got GPS tracker on my phone and-"

"I'm coming with you," he blurted out instead.

She stepped back, her hand falling from his chest. "You should sleep."

"I should," he mistakenly admitted. "But I'm coming with you."

Kate looked away from him, but he was already pushing his weary body out of bed and stumbling to the chest of drawers for shorts.

"Rick," she said.

"Look, if we had the dog, I'd send you out alone with Sasha. Wouldn't think twice about it," he lied. Lied through his damn teeth. "But it's three in the morning. And I just got you - we just got back. I wouldn't sleep anyway."

_And damn it, you're weak as a kitten, Beckett, so don't think you're going out there alone. _

When he turned around, tugging on a t-shirt even as he went for the closet and his shoes, he could tell that she'd heard that. He hadn't _said_ it, but she'd heard it anyway. She pressed her lips together and fiddled with the edge of her running jacket, thumbs pushing in and out of those holes in the sleeves.

"I don't want you to have to do this," she said finally.

"Kate, you slept in the panic room for six weeks. For me. Running at three a.m. is the least I can do."

She gave him a crooked smile, shifting on her feet, and he tied his shoes standing up, nudging her towards the door.

"You bringing your ipod?" he murmured, more for something to say than real curiosity.

"No. Just you."

"I'm not singing that Kelly Clarkson crap you listen to."

She laughed, a soft and almost breakable thing in the darkness, but at least he'd gotten one out of her. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

"That just makes me want to cringe," he muttered, and she laughed harder. He realized those were probably lyrics to some song he didn't know. "Hey, if you need Chinese after our run, we can do that too. It's 24 hours remember?"

"What are you talking about? We have leftovers," she chided, reaching back for his hand as they stepped lightly down the stairs. Darkness laid over everything, but her fingers were warm.

"Yeah, but you took me out when I had my panic attacks, remember?" He flipped the dead bolt on the door, popped off the emergency bar, and then turned the lock in the knob. "You took me out of my own head."

"Then take me out for something else," she huffed, reaching for her phone on the entry table. She called up the home security app and the alarm turned off at a touch; he opened the door.

"Something else? Baby, no one else is crazy enough to be open 24 hours."

"That taco place near Rockefeller."

He groaned. "Tacos for breakfast? After a _run_?"

"If you love me," she sighed.

Castle laughed this time, awake now, actually ready to burn off some energy. He was bristling with adrenaline, mostly a result of that jolt of panic when he'd woken to hear her say she was _going for a run_. "If you make it to anywhere _near _Rockefeller, I'd be surprised."

She turned a mulish look to him as he shut the door behind them, and he wished he hadn't said it. She was going to take it as a challenge now, wasn't she? Damn his big, unfiltered mouth in the morning.

"Alarm us up, baby," he nudged. She glared at him a moment longer and then she used her app to lock the door and arm the alarm. It worked like a deadbolt and only the app would open the door; it was a lot easier than trying to carry keys while they ran.

Kate tucked her phone into the zippered pocket of her running jacket, her fingers hidden by the sleeves, and then she took off without even a warning.

Castle jogged down the stoop to follow her through the darkness.

* * *

Yeah.

Bad idea.

Good thing she'd brought Castle. There was no way they were making it to Rockefeller.

Beckett leaned forward, hands on her knees as she gasped for breath mere blocks from their apartment. Her lungs constricted, throat closing up, and now Castle stood in front of her like he was shielding her.

"Don't fight it, don't fight it, Kate." He scraped his hand at the hair falling in her face and flipped it over her shoulder. "Wanna sit? Put your head between your knees."

Not really a question though, was it? A command. Still she sank to her ass as gracefully as she could and shoved her head towards the pavement, sucking in breaths that wouldn't come.

"Panic attack," he said knowingly. "It's probably what woke you in the first place. I'm just going to sit right here, Kate. Won't touch you. Just listen to my voice."

She couldn't breathe. Damn it. She'd raced out of the house to get _away_ from this, and it'd chased her down and struck her in the back before she'd even noticed it coming. The night air was suddenly freezing, clawing at her throat, making her lungs solid and immovable.

"Let it wash over you, Kate. Don't fight it. Only makes it worse. Just take your time; let it come and go."

She shivered but she was sweating, the hot flash rolling over her and clinging to her insides. Felt like she was boiling, her guts and heart in flames even while the air scraped cold nails along her skin and crushed her lungs, made every breath like swallowing knives.

"Take your time, Kate. We can stay here as long as we have to. Long as we need."

She was going to die; she was going to die like this - after everything - after being chased down by the Russian Army, after being attacked by a wolf, after nearly dying of starvation and dehydration in a damn freezing cave, she was going to suffocate on her own street not three blocks from her house.

"Come on, Kate. Cry if you have to; make you feel better to let it out - everything's trapped. Let it come."

She flailed an arm out and snatched his hand, squeezing hard, clutching him in time to the clutch of her lungs, sucking in breath after breath that just wasn't enough, wasn't enough.

His grip tightened, squeezing back, holding on to her. "You got this, Kate. You got it. You're coming out of it. Just let it roll through you. Nothing we can do to stop a panic attack. Just gotta let it come and go."

She gripped him so hard that she couldn't feel it, so hard that her hand pulsed with the thud of her slamming heart. And then the trapped, cloying sensation eased just slightly, just a fraction, like a clamp twisted open a notch, and Kate sucked in a deeper breath, suddenly shaking.

"Castle," she croaked, her body listing into him on the sidewalk. He wrapped both arms around her and drew her across his chest, holding her loosely but close, close enough to keep her anchored.

"You got it. You got this, Kate."

She gripped his shirt and breathed again, the air somehow becoming lighter, and she shut her eyes in the darkness of three in the morning, shivering hard as the panic slithered out of her.

"Okay, okay," he was murmuring now, lips at her ear. "You're okay."

She was a trembling mess and she hated it, she hated it, but she needed a second just like this, just a moment to take a breath that would come more easily now. She shivered again but released his shirt, smoothed the material down.

Kate pushed back from his chest and took another long breath, her hands against his chest to hold him apart from her. He didn't tighten his arms, didn't say anything, just watched her as she gathered herself back together.

She got a foot under her and slowly stood, limbs quivering with the dump of adrenaline still buzzing in her blood. Castle stood with her, watching her, poised on the balls of his feet like he was ready for action.

"Back to the house?" he asked. "Or keep going?"

She was so grateful for the _or_ in his question that, for a second, she couldn't answer him. She cleared her throat and scraped a shaky hand through her hair, held it off her face as she looked at him.

"Keep going," she admitted. "Gotta get it out of me."

Castle only nodded and started off down the sidewalk, causing a motion-sensor security lamp to blink on and illuminate his path. She picked up her knees and followed.

* * *

"I gotta shower," she said to him as they came in the front door. He looked at her sharply, but she didn't seem as faded as she had when she'd woken him.

He nodded. "You go first," he offered, locking the door, resetting the alarm. "Mine's gonna be a cold shower anyway. Stay in as long as you like."

"Thanks," she sighed, pressing her toes to the bottom step and stretching her calves. "I should probably try to sleep afterwards. Used up a lot of my energy."

"Pretty good run," he said, impressed actually by the miles they'd logged. Sleep would be ideal, if she could actually do it.

"I can run when I'm fucked up," she said back. "My specialty."

Castle stopped and grabbed her wrist, yanked her back into him, sweat steaming, her hair in lank curls plastered to her skin. She looked alive in a way she hadn't all day yesterday. "You're not fucked up, Kate." He knew he was gripping her too hard, but it made her gentle again, made her liquid against him. Her mouth came to his throat and her lips opened at his skin, tongue touching him so that he groaned.

"I'm sorry. I promised you all kinds of kinkiness in your panic room if you got me home," she murmured. "And I'm mostly just falling apart."

"No, you're not. You're just working through it. Besides, we had some fun in Rome."

"I don't think I could do it in the panic room right now, but soon. You gotta hold me to it, remember?"

"With handcuffs. I remember. But Kate-"

"No. No excuses for me. No more."

He'd give her any excuse she wanted, a thousand other things beside, but when she was determined, there was no talking her out of it. She wanted to be better, and he believed she would make herself through sheer force of will alone.

So Castle leaned in and kissed her temple, breathing hotly against her skin until he felt her slide her arms around him, both of them sticky after their run.

"How about we shower together?"

Her skin erupted in goose flesh at his question; she scraped her teeth along the half-circle where his collarbones met under his throat, a hum vibrating between their bodies.

"Make it hot, and you're on," she said, lifting her head and starting for the stairs.

"Oh, sweetheart, I always make it hot."

She didn't laugh, but she did smirk at him over her shoulder, crooking her finger for him to follow.

And of course he did, right on her heels, sliding a palm to her stomach and trailing his fingers in the sweat at her belly button, letting them both pretend she hadn't needed to go for a run at three in the morning, pretend she hadn't collapsed in a panic attack the moment they set foot out of the house.

* * *

Kate felt drugged when she woke, sprawled over the bed, an arm bent awkwardly under her, face mashed into the pillow. The sunlight was harsh as it scraped through cracks in the wooden blinds; she grunted and rolled over, fell right out of bed.

Castle came through the door as she winced, laughing at her. "Hungover, Beckett?"

"Exercise hangover maybe," she grunted, rubbing her ass. "My thighs are killing me."

He bent over, offering his hand, a chagrined look on his face. "My fault."

"You didn't push me to run. I was the one..." She finally caught the mirth in his eyes, the amusement rippling from him and she realized. "Oh, you are _dirty_."

She gave him a shocked gasp, and he wriggled his eyebrows at her, helped her off the floor. Her leg muscles seized up and she couldn't straighten, gasping for real, tightening her grip around his hand.

"Whoa," he murmured, cupping her elbow. "You're not kidding."

"Did too much," she admitted, cracking an eyelid open to peer up at him. He was concerned, but at least he wasn't disappointed in her for pushing it. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder and reached down, massaged her quad through the cramp.

"You good? I'll get you tylenol."

"Something stronger maybe?" she said, biting her lip.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Can't." He helped her sit on the bed and his fingers came through her hair, ratty and tangled as it was after their shower and her not getting the chance to comb it out. She ducked her head away from him, batted at his hand.

"Why not?" she growled, kneading her knuckles into her thighs. "Advil. Aleve. Anything."

He sighed and stepped back. "You know why, Kate. Not on the plan."

"Screw the plan," she muttered. "What do they know? I can handle it."

"It's not about what you can handle," Castle muttered, heading away from her and into the bathroom. He raised his voice over the water in the tub as he turned it on. "It's about what's healthy. Your system can't-"

"I know. I got it," she yelled, flopping back onto the mattress. Her fault. Her own damn fault. There was no way Castle was going to let her off 'the regimen' - as he called it - after everything. The fact that he'd allowed the extra glass of wine last night, and that he hadn't been more militant about the regimen since they'd gotten home said a lot about his restraint.

She sighed and opened her eyes to find Castle overhead, peering at her with an intense concern that he immediately wiped away. Her heart went tender, stupidly ridiculously soft towards him because he was trying so hard for her, and she raised her hand to cup the side of his face.

He kissed the inside of her wrist and hauled her upright, put her on her feet. She groaned and he only shook his head at her.

"Come on. Hot bath. Do you some good."


	3. Chapter 3

**Close Encounters 11**

* * *

From the bath, Kate trailed her fingers through the hair at his nape, drops of water making a wet trail down his back. He didn't move even though it tickled, even though his ass was getting bruised sitting on the tile beside the tub. She'd told him to leave twice now, but he heard in her voice how she didn't truly mean it.

Her body was shimmering and liquid beneath the water. It was his fault that he couldn't leave her side, his own issues when it came to Kate Beckett in a bathtub after tragedy. But the sight of her relaxed, a little smile, that made it easier.

"This on the regimen?" she murmured then.

He turned his head to look at her. "Is what?"

"Hot baths and a sexy husband telling me stories?"

He laughed and caught her wrist, kissed the soft skin there. Her fingers splayed at his jaw and scratched through the day-old stubble; he'd forgotten to shave since he wasn't going in to work. "This is not on the regimen, sweetheart."

"You're telling me your dad never hovered over you like you're doing to me, insisting you not deviate from the plan?"

She was smirking at him. All right. Fine. He got it. "Okay. Yeah, guess so. You want me to leave you here when your leg might cramp up at any moment and you could drown? I don't think so."

She laughed, scratched at his cheek again like she was petting him. "Tell me that story. About his regimen, about what it was like for you."

He frowned at her. "I can't see why you'd want to know about him."

"Not him," she said, her fingers now at his ear, wet and cool and lovely in their exploration. "You. What'd you have to do? How'd it go for you? When did you start fighting it?"

He shot her a look; that she knew he'd been fighting the regimen was just like her. But coming out with it now was to put him off-balance, mask her own vulnerabilities. He was wise to her tricks. But he didn't mind telling his story.

"Well. Started fighting him on it about a year before I met you. When he slept with-" He winced, tilted his head to one side, giving her a sharp look.

"You mean Turner," Kate supplied. "The woman who turned out to be a traitor. You told me that the first time I met you."

"Not the _first_ time. I mean. There were at least a few days between our love at first sight meeting and my blabbing confession."

"No, love. You blabbed from the moment I opened my eyes in your interrogation." She grinned over at him, her fingers running along his neck to his shoulder.

"Yeah. Okay. That's... true." He leaned in and rested his cheek against the side of the tub, felt her arm curl in and wrap around his head.

"So it was Turner that did it. After her." She was stroking her fingers so softly at his other ear now. "I'm sorry, Rick."

"I'm not," he shrugged. "If he hadn't screwed her, I'd never have gotten suspicious. She'd still be in the CIA, betraying us all, selling secrets to the highest bidder."

She nodded at him, something a little too tender in her eyes. "That's true. You're good at that, Castle. Letting it go. Learning what you can and letting it go. I've never been any good at it."

"Practice, sweetheart," he said softly. "And - to be honest - yeah, part of it is the regimen. Conditioning. How I was trained from the time I was five years old."

Her eyes jerked to his, both eyebrows raised. "What?"

"What what?"

"What do you mean, five years old?"

He shrugged again. "It's part of the regimen. Depersonalizing. Can't be a machine if you've got all those emotions clogging you up."

"No, not that. You said - you've been on the regimen since you were five?"

He couldn't understand her confusion. "I told you that. The whole 'picking me up' from boarding school. Only he sent a car service instead. I went everywhere by car service."

"Well, yeah. That's different, sweetheart. That's taking custody of you, which we already know was something of an interesting situation. I'm talking about the regimen. All that extra stuff."

"That's what I'm talking about," he huffed, giving her an odd look. What was the problem here? "Five. That's when he took me home for break. Started it that day instead of - well, you know - Christmas."

She sat upright in the bath, water spilling down her shoulders. "You're shitting me."

He laughed. "No, baby. Not shitting you."

"You were _five_ when your father started a CIA-based program for you."

"Yeah. Why are you surprised?"

She cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs stroking his cheeks, her eyes searching his with an intensity he didn't understand.

"What?" he said.

"You said... you said that the program includes - Castle. The weight training, the martial arts, the diet - the supplements?"

"Yeah."

"Since you were _five._"

"Yeah. During Christmas break the car service drove me two hours to get to the training facility. I did judo at first, and actually, I really loved it. But those two hour drives back and forth were kinda brutal. I was bored to tears and Black would leave these flash cards that I was supposed to be learning. Foreign languages, multiplication tables, governments of the world - all of it thrown together. I wanted to impress him - he was my father, and he'd come for me, right? - so I did everything in my power to get it right the first time."

She sank back down in the tub, her fingers combing through his hair. "You had judo at five. Okay. Well. I mean, that's not exactly what I was thinking when you said you were on the regimen."

"The hand-to-hand didn't start until the next year. Gotta get the basics first. I liked the knives the best," he boasted, grinning at her.

"Knives. At... six."

"Yup. I was good. And you know, the diet isn't that bad, Kate. I mean, it works. The supplements are easy, but the injections sucked at first. I mean, what kid likes needles? But it made me tough enough to handle anything, so-"

"No, wait," she said, holding up both hands, her face horrified. "Baby. That's not - injections? No."

"Yeah," he shrugged. "But it works. I should ask Mitchell and see if he's got contacts with the training center - get you some of those supplements. They'd be good for you. Even the shots - I know they're not fun, but-"

"Castle..."

"No, really. And then you could get back to full-strength Aleve and more than a glass of wine. I should've thought of it before," he muttered. He shifted off his ass and reached for his phone in his back pocket. He'd call Mitchell right now.

"Wait. Castle. Wait a second," she said, her wet fingers wrapping around his wrist to stop him. "Since you were five. Shots. You got shots. And... supplements. Have you ever asked what was in them?"

He opened his mouth, shut it, stared at her. She looked so _worried_ about him. For some shots? "I just do what the docs say," he shrugged. Except now that the thought about it, he had never actually spoken to any doctors. It'd been his handler who gave him the meds - and his handler was his father.

"From the time you were five?" She was back to stroking her fingers at his nape, chewing on her bottom lip. "That's not right. That's..." She shook her head and the damp locks of her hair clung to her chin; her eyes were fierce on him but it as if she was trying to keep from crying.

"Hey, it's over now," he whispered back, coming up to his knees to brush the wet hair away from her mouth. "It's not even a thing. Obviously, I won't be signing our kid up for the regimen, but it didn't kill me. It gave me something to hang on to. And you know I'm not on it any more - not since Black... not since we forced him into retirement."

She leaned in, her arms wrapping around his neck and soaking his shirt, her cheek brushing his as her mouth pressed a kiss to his ear. "I wish it'd been different for you. I wish you'd had everything you were supposed to. It's not right-"

"I'm glad I had as little as I did," he interrupted. "Otherwise, maybe I wouldn't have this now, maybe I wouldn't know how great it is." He gripped the nape of her neck, tangled in her hair with as he spoke. "Maybe we'd never have met. So it's fine, Kate. It's good. I'd do it again just to have you."

She squeezed him harder, her face pushing wetly at his neck, the tantalizing buzz of her lips moving against his skin. Castle cupped the back of her head and nudged aside her nose to meet her mouth, kissing her softly, reverently, showing her just how good they were.

And if he felt a little more tired lately, if it seemed like papercuts took too long to heal and his vision was getting worse, it didn't matter. None of that mattered so long as she was here. Alive.

* * *

The program had her slated for physical therapy in the morning, but her PT hadn't called them back to schedule times. Castle had told her he thought that was strange, but she hadn't wanted to make his paranoia any crazier, so she pretended like it meant nothing.

Still, why hadn't their CIA-based physical therapist gotten in touch with her? Maybe Castle was right and he was stuck in a secure location - after all, she'd first met him at Stone Farm - but maybe it was something else.

She had to shake this lingering sense of dread whenever things weren't quite right. Not everything was a wolf in the night.

So Castle moved her through the PT exercises himself, mostly lower body work focused on strengthening her wasted muscles, and she was relieved she didn't have to leave the house - and pissed at herself for being relieved. But they'd be driving up to get Sasha later today, and that would be a good test of her abilities.

In the entry way, Castle had her balance on the bottom step and push up onto tiptoe before sinking down as far as her achilles tendon would stretch. And then up again. Stair master was literally taking the stairs two at a time, slowly, resting often, then hustling back down, letting gravity do some of the work while he made her concentrate on where she placed her feet, getting back her agility, her grace.

She was sweating and shaking by the time he called it quits and she knew now why he'd insisted on the hot bath this morning. She could use another one after all that work. Castle eased her to sit down on the next to last step, her feet flat on the floor of the entry way, and she sprawled back on her elbows, dipping her head to the angle of the staircase.

Why hadn't the PT called her back?

"Hard work," he said, something that sounded like amusement in his voice. "Increases your stamina."

"I'd much rather have sex to increase my stamina."

He chuckled and she felt him sink down beside her, sitting right where she had rested her head, his fingers skirting across her damp skin. "We can do that too."

"Too," she mulled over. "As in - also, in addition. Huh, nope. Not what I was going for."

"You're doing good, Kate." His thumb pressed against her forehead like he was blessing her, and then his fingers brushed down her face, some strange, ritualistic movement that made her open her eyes to look at him.

Her own paranoia eased. If her super spy wasn't worried, she wasn't worried either.

"I just hate to be so worn out after weeks of being... trapped."

"I'm gonna call Mitchell," he said then, sounding determined. She'd convinced him not to - she hadn't wanted any part of his father's damn _regimen_ - but she had to admit that some supplements might help. She needed something more here. Even a nutritionist would know better than she did which foods to eat after a workout, which foods to regain healthy fat. Not even Castle could determine that for her; he only knew what had worked for him.

"Maybe you should," she said finally. "The health plan the doc gave me for follow-up just..."

"Isn't cutting it," he sighed. "I made sure we followed it pretty strictly in Rome as well. So it's been - yeah, like you said - a couple weeks now."

She wanted to be strong again. She wanted to make decisions about getting pregnant, about tackling Bracken head on, about what to do with his father now that Black had been relegated to a listening station on an island along the North African coast.

Not nearly remote enough, to her liking. Not when he'd come back from worse, not when he could so easily fuck up her future with one of his plots.

Castle hadn't yet been able to install any surveillance of his own down there, but he and Mitchell had brought Malone in on it - a guy who was brilliant with computers - and she knew that man would figure it out. Inconspicuous and clean. Malone would find a way.

She opened her eyes again and saw that Castle was messaging Mitch from his secure phone. It was one of the converted burners that their European head, Mason, had tinkered with before Castle and Kate had flown to Rome; he'd sent them over from Paris where he was stationed. It wasn't on the CIA's grid, which technically wasn't supposed to be possible, but of course Mason had made it work. It meant that Castle could keep informed with the progress on Black's 'reassignment' but without alerting the Director or anyone else who might still be sympathetic to his father.

They just didn't know who their allies were, who their enemies might be; not when Black had dirt on everyone and the rest of them wrapped around his little finger.

"I'll see if Mitch can't sneak us some supplements," Castle mumbled then. "You need it."

She studied him and saw the weariness stamped in his face, the worry. About her, about his father's supposed lockdown, about Bracken.

Probably getting pregnant was thrown in there too. He was ready for it - they were both more than ready - but it definitely left her feeling exposed. Like she'd bared her neck for the predator and they hadn't even really started trying. Just the thought of how vulnerable it would make them was giving her nightmares.

She couldn't imagine the level of terror they'd feel if they had a child in the middle of this, with nothing resolved, all of it up in the air and no way of knowing where they'd fall.

But did it have to be this terrifying? Did it have to wreck them both?

She wanted it to be joyful, wanted it to be good for them. She'd never seen Castle so completely exhausted, like he had nothing left, like what he'd faced in Russia had completely gutted him out. She couldn't keep doing this to him - being his weak side, being the thing that dragged him down - she had to be strong again.

Kate shifted onto her shoulder to face him, reaching out a hand to smooth along his thigh and curl intimately at the place where his leg creased and his hip narrowed into that tantalizing heat. The same place where the scar was. She stroked lightly and he leaned in over her, kissed her cheek before glancing along her lips.

His soft, tired sigh made her ache for him.

She propped herself up on the stairs and met him for another kiss, a little deeper, letting the firmness of her touch echo the fierceness of her mouth, letting that at least convince him she was going to be okay. He groaned out and clutched at her hand, squeezing.

She ducked her head, laid her hot cheek against his thigh. "When do we pick up Sasha?"

"In two hours," he said quickly.

They should shower and go. She knew that. But she wanted him. "Help me build up my stamina," she said, letting her cheek scrape against his jeans at his inside thigh.

"You make it impossible to say no," he gasped, fingers gripping the back of her neck, her shoulder. "But only on one condition."

"Name it," she murmured.

"In the shower. If you can do it standing up, then-"

She grinned up at him, her tongue touching her teeth. He looked ready to drag her off to the shower right this second.

"Oh, I _like_ this phase of the Castle regimen," she murmured.

"I better be the only regimen you're on."

She laughed and saw his echoing smile, grateful that at least in this she could make him feel good again. Make him feel renewed.

* * *

He gave her the keys as they left the house, tucked them into her palm and closed her fingers around them. She shot him a look and tried to shake him off, but he steered her towards the driver's side of their car. He'd managed to park it right out front, and he nudged her with his knee, got her moving.

She sighed at him - yeah, that had probably been a little bullying, manhandling her like that - but she remote unlocked the car doors and he went around to the passenger side. When he hopped into the seat and yanked out the seat belt to strap it across his lap, she slowly slid behind the wheel. He pretended he didn't know what was going on, pretended it hadn't been a thing with her lately, and she put the key in the ignition.

Castle kept his eyes forward, and eventually the engine roared to life. He'd taken the time a couple years ago to install a Hemi under the hood of a Land Rover LR2 he'd appropriated from a police auction. The VIN had been ripped out - just in case - and their vehicle had been stripped of any other identifiers. He'd swept it for tracers the moment she'd fallen asleep their first night home, and he'd done it again when he'd parked it in front of the house this morning.

He felt pretty confident about its anonymity, but he didn't like having it on the street. He'd been looking for a garage nearby - one with security - but he was slow about it because he knew that his paranoia could be a bit much. Still, he wanted Kate to feel as confident about it as he did, and he had the sinking suspicion that she wasn't.

Confident anymore. He didn't know how to combat that except by doing more of what he did. Look for tails, search for bugs, take the most circuitous route imaginable. And-

Shove her behind the wheel.

She had to get over it.

When she pulled out onto the street, he sat back in the seat and let out a breath. "I hate driving out there," he said. "Makes me angry. Traffic here sucks, but you're good at it."

"Used to it. And I know all the shortcuts. You always take the main routes."

He smiled at the easy way it rolled off her tongue, pushed his knuckle against the passenger window as he watched the brownstones go by, the little park where she'd nearly fainted on their run early this morning. She turned at the end of their block, heading for the Holland Tunnel.

"Get the smirk off your face, Castle. It's a little insufferable."

He laughed and glanced over at her, saw the shake of her head, the reluctant amusement in the tight line of her mouth. She wasn't totally great with it - driving their car in broad daylight towards Carrie's house - but she was doing it anyway.

He didn't always have to push - she did a good enough job pushing herself.

He wasn't sure what it was about - the car being conspicuous since they'd had it for a couple years now, or if it was just being exposed in daylight like this - but he would do whatever it took to help her get back to normal.

She released a hand from the wheel at the traffic light, reached between them to grasp his fingers. He held her there, balanced on his thigh, and studied the cityscape to keep from gazing at her like a lovestruck idiot.

Not that he wasn't - he was - but it might be healthier for her if he kept his pathetic need to a minimum these days.

"I'll feel better when we have Sasha home," she said suddenly. From the corner of his eye, he saw her hand clench and release on the steering wheel. "All my - pieces - in place."

He wasn't sure about that. He didn't see this as a magic pill, but he knew the feeling. Having everyone back home, everything in place like it should be would go a long way to making her feel secure again. She'd always been the kind of person who needed to stay in control, and having Sasha out at Carrie's was one more thing not within her reach.

Still, he had misgivings about banking on it as a cure-all.

"You're right though," he gave her. "When you said we've been gone too much. It does have to change. We have to change. I wanted us to quit the Agency, but I think we could work out a way to be more State-side support - we command center the operations from here."

She shot him a look - quick and hopeful - and he couldn't bear to disappoint her in this.

"I'm just surprised, I guess," he continued. "I thought for sure you'd jump at the chance to go back to the NYPD."

"I'm done with that," she said quietly. "That's not my life anymore. It served its purpose, and I had a family there that I needed, still need, but I can't go in to work every day knowing that the evil in the world is on such a broader scale than this city. Not just my grief, but the world's."

God, she was so gorgeous when she was passionate; she was a champion, a warrior. He did the job because it was all he'd ever known, but she did it because she chose it. He didn't know how to compare.

"You know the world needs the people in every city - local guys like you and Espo and Ry - who will do what has to be done to protect all of us. Don't make the mistake of thinking they don't-"

"That's not what I'm saying," she huffed at him, squeezing his hand hard and letting go to make a turn. "I'm talking about my mom's murder."

Oh. Well. This was back to her mom's death again? He wasn't sure that was so healthy for them.

"Bracken..." She trailed off and scraped her hand through her hair even as she merged into traffic for the tunnel, their car immediately coming to a stop behind a line of other vehicles. "Bracken's not just some New York City thug. He's a senator. With national power. If we're going to take him down - end his reign over our city - then that's something we have to do with some national power of our own. Castle - he had the NSA following me, us. You remember. This isn't something we can combat from the 12th."

He nodded; he'd known that for a while now. He was the one who'd convinced her to stay at the CIA in the first place - for exactly that reason. "Not as noble as you've been trying to make it out to be. This choice to stay with the Agency."

She grunted something at him under her breath. "No. It's not just about my mother's case, about getting justice. Sure, that is a piece of it. But everything else I've said to try to make you understand why we have to stay... doesn't seem to matter to you. At least with my mom's case, I know I can make you listen."

He winced, rubbing his hand down his face. That could be true. He'd ignored her more noble reasons, hadn't he? Didn't seem to matter - truth and justice and moral rightness - when their lives were held in the balance.

"I guess I - yeah. I'm more willing to stay on knowing that we need the CIA to get Bracken, but I don't like it. I'd bail the second we had him behind bars, Kate."

"And what about your father?" she said then, something choked in her voice. "We've got some pretty powerful enemies, Castle, and it kills me to think that this is what's going to keep us from the life we want. At least in the CIA we can stay a step ahead."

He reached out across the seat and gripped her shoulder, sliding up to her neck, trying to keep from squeezing. He wanted to hide her away, wanted to promise her the world and more, but he couldn't do that when he knew it could be taken from them so easily.

Bracken. Black. Both of those bastards had him by the balls.

"We stick close to home," she said then, her head turning to look at him, her mouth dipping to brush the back of his hand. "It means more administration, and I know that drives you crazy - it does me too - but that's the deal, Castle. Stay close, actually be at home long enough - and together - to watch the shit on our DVR, and then we get a handle on this."

"A handle on... Bracken and Black?"

"Yeah. They were arch-enemies, right? Always in some kind of power play against each other. In fact, I'm surprised Bracken hasn't made a move now that your father's been arrested rather... publicly. At least for the CIA."

He stiffened even as she turned her eyes back to the road and the traffic moving forward through the tunnel. That trickle of unease down his spine that he'd chalked up to mere paranoia began to grow into a steady stream. She was right. Why hadn't he thought of that sooner? They'd had the same people on Bracken for a year or more, but there should've been _something_ in all that time. Something the moment word reached the back halls of DC that Black had been removed from power.

Bracken should be making his move. "Shit," he whispered.

"We use it to our advantage," she said quickly. "We set them up against each other. Let _them_ do the dirty work."

"You make it sound easy, love."

She shot him a half-hearted smile like she knew how difficult it was. "Bracken first. We've gotten as far as we can with your father. He's - contained for now. So we look at the senator again and start from scratch."

"For now," he grunted. His father was by no means contained. His father wasn't even _muzzled_. She was kidding herself if she thought Castle was going to ignore that bastard.

"We'll start on Bracken. Dig deep into financials, have a couple guys tail him in DC for a few weeks, shake some trees and see what nuts fall out."

"We did all this back in the beginning. After you were shot. Kate, we _tried_ all this. My father wanted that bastard out of power just as badly as we did - but nothing came of it."

"But we have more than we did then," she insisted. She sounded so damn confident. So certain of their path. He didn't see it playing out that easily.

"We have a handful more small-time crooks - racketeering and money laundering. Enforcement. Human trafficking ring was the worst we ever busted and it went nowhere. Nothing ever leads back to him. He's been doing this for twenty years or more, Kate. He knows how to be invisible."

"Maybe, but there _is_ a trail. Montgomery had proof, and he handed it over to Smith-"

"Kate, sweetheart." He shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut. The hope on her face was breaking his heart. "That file was pulverized. Confetti. Remember?"

"We had a guy putting together what he could. We got a few numbers, a bank account. And then you pretended to die in an explosion, Castle, so yeah. I remember."

He winced, opened his eyes to glance over at her. Pissed was better than that abject and miserable grief she used to have because of what he'd done to her a few years ago. It'd taken a lot of therapy, but they'd worked past it. Made it part of their story of strength rather than a crack in their foundation.

Being snarky about it - he could handle that.

"We still have those pieces in the safe," she said. "In the panic room. We have that account number. Our investigation got sidetracked by your so-called death and then your plan to - you know - so we never got back to it."

His 'you know' happened to be the best plan they'd had. Assassinate Senator Bracken. He still wanted to do it, ached to do it. The thought of Bracken destroying the life he and Kate were trying to build made Castle white-hot with fury; it wouldn't diminish just because Kate wanted to do it cleanly.

Of course, same could be said for his own father, and if he understood that his wife wanted to go into this without blood on their hands, it didn't mean he thought it was entirely possible.

If it came down to it, he had no qualms about confessing to his future son that he'd had to kill a couple men to make his life possible. None at all. And then he'd get the kid therapy - King was excellent - to be sure his son didn't take that on as a responsibility or burden or whatever.

"Castle," she huffed, as if she knew what he was thinking. "We made a deal with him. _I _made a deal with him."

"So... what are you asking of me?"

"Let's get back to the real investigation, quietly of course. Bring Mitchell and Malone here into it. Mason too, if he can help."

"I don't know."

"With Espo and Ryan at the 12th and our CIA boys too - Castle - we've got more now than we ever have. And more motivation. We can do this."

He grit his teeth and stared ahead through the windshield, watching the yellow lights of the tunnel and the red brake lights of the cars stuck ahead of them.

A team of CIA and NYPD resources. The bank account numbers they'd scrounged from the confetti of that file and, if it could be done, a way to pit Black against Bracken. Or at least make one of them think that.

Actually, if he could use his father's ousting from power to fool Bracken into coming out of the shadows like a damn rat...

"Maybe," he murmured. Maybe they could do this.

"We'll look at Smith and Montgomery all over again," Kate said quietly. "I've been thinking about this."

His chest caught, like one of his ribs was tugging at his lungs. "You have? When?"

"When I was in that cave. Now when I can't sleep. When I think about how I want us to have a kid, a real life, and how great a daddy you're going to be."

And his breath stopped altogether. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're made for it, Rick." She snagged his hand again and drew it into her lap, pressed his whole arm against her. "I need to do this, need _us_ to do this, so that we can have our life."

He nodded stupidly, mindlessly, staring at her in the dimly-lit tunnel, his throat clogged with everything he wanted for them.

"We'll go back to the case," he said gruffly. "We'll make it our priority. You're right. You're right." His hand flexed in hers; it was so hard to breathe. He wanted this for them so badly, and if this was how she'd be at peace about it, he'd do anything.

She nodded softly, something lighter moving across her face, something like relief. He knew she needed this too, that her mother's murder was like a hole in her, a gaping mouth that could never be filled. Except by this. Closure.

"Kate," he said then, tangling his fingers with hers and gripping her so hard that she flinched. He couldn't help it. "Kate if we don't... if there's nothing left to do, no recourse. Then I'm going to arrange an accident."

"Castle," she moaned.

"No. You listen to me," he said sharply. He was done with this. With how it controlled their lives. "You listen, Kate. Last time - last time, I let my father get to me. I didn't do my research, didn't stay calm. So this time. This time, I promise you, we will do everything possible to get justice. But when it comes to my family. When it comes to keeping our kid safe? You know what I have to do. I won't let Bracken destroy another family."

He could feel the way she shook, the quiver of her muscles against his arm as she held him against her. They were nearly through the tunnel; New Jersey stretched ahead of them, bleary and tired, echoing all the hopelessness he felt when it came to them actually serving justice for her mother's death.

She swallowed hard and then he felt her short, sharp nod. "Okay," she rasped.

He went still, frozen in his seat by the agony of her word.

"But you have to - you run it by me first," she whispered. "I get to veto."

"No veto."

"Yes," she insisted. "On the basis of whether or not you can get away with it. That's all I want."

"Kate."

"You do this, Castle, if you do this..." She shook her head and her grip on his hand was so fierce he could feel his knuckles being ground together. "It does us no good if you're caught. If someone can later use it against us. I don't want _that_ hanging over our heads either. You hear me?"

He nodded, a short breath in as he realized what they were doing. "And now you've... made yourself a part of this. Conspiracy to commit-"

"We don't talk about it. After today. Never again. We don't make jokes about it; we don't look like we want it. We don't reference it, not even between us in our own home. Not a word. But when it's time. If it ever is time. If we can't... then we go in the panic room and we hash it out and that's it."

Damn, she was fierce. Her eyes blazed. The traffic was still congested and the roads were miserable to drive, but she had her confidence back in a way he hadn't seen in weeks. At least, not outside their bed.

"Agreed," he said quietly.

And that was it. She released his hand to get out of traffic, turning onto some back road he didn't know, and the conversation was over.

And he realized suddenly that when that day came - if it came - he'd lose something precious in her, lose something of himself that she loved, and he didn't know if they could come back from that.

He had no idea if they'd be okay after that.


	4. Chapter 4

** Close Encounters 11**

* * *

Kate got out of the Range Rover and had to slide down off the runner to the gravel drive. Castle was already heading for the front porch steps and she didn't let herself hesitate. She followed him across the dirt of the front yard, trying to stay off the grass that grew sparsely under the wide oak.

She felt acorns crunch under her shoes as she rounded the side of the house; when she got to the back steps, she started up to the porch. She heard Castle at the screen door, Carrie's welcome from the kitchen, and then she sharp bark of the dog.

She flinched.

Kate glanced up and gasped as the wolf flung itself at her, mouth wide and teeth, tongue, all of it in a coiling spring of energy. She stumbled back and fell down the porch steps, both arms held up to ward it off, eyes closed even as her back hit the dirt and her breath left her.

"Kate!"

She curled up to fend it off, but the low, pathetic whine and the thunder of Castle's feet down the steps thrummed into her and peeled her eyes open, breath rattling in her lungs again.

Sasha was hunkered low to the ground, ears flattened, body trembling and abject, sounding pitiful. Castle was there a second later, on his knees in the dirt beside her, helping her sit up, glancing back and forth from her to the dog.

"I'm okay," she gritted out, knocking his hand away. "I'm fine. Just got knocked off-balance."

Sasha was still on her belly at Kate's side, carefully holding herself back like she knew. Like she sensed the rippling panic. She could probably smell it.

"Kate," he rasped, sitting back, leaving her alone just like the dog. "What was that?"

She shook her head, eyes squeezed shut, and then flashed them open once more. "Just. You know. More of the same."

"Because of-"

"Kate?" It was Carrie and she'd come down the porch steps as well. "Hey, honey. Come on inside. Sasha, with me."

"No," Kate gasped, lurching forward. Her fingers gripped around Sasha's collar and her dog whined again, nudging her nose into Kate's arm, wet and cool. "Give me a second."

"Kate, you're sprawled in the dirt," Castle murmured. "Let's get everyone inside."

She curled her fingers around Sasha, tighter, and her dog belly-crawled forward, laid her head in Kate's lap. The long tongue came out and licked at Kate's arm, her jeans, her arm again, her whine growing more eager now. Kate resolutely cut back the tendrils of terror that grew up around her lungs, ignoring the quiver of memory.

"Hey, honey," Carrie said softly, squatting down now at her side. Her fingers came out and stroked over Sasha's back. "You don't look so good, Kate. You're pale and shaking. Come on inside."

Kate gave a laugh that sounded more desperate than she'd meant it to. "That's not because of this."

Carrie shot Castle a look but he only shook his head and reached for Kate, dragged her up to her feet. Sasha came too, standing and pressing hard against Kate's thigh, and she realized her fingers were still tangled in the dog's collar, probably choking her. But she couldn't seem to let go.

* * *

Kate sat on the couch with the dog laid across her lap, both hands buried in Sasha's fur and gripping too tight. Castle was in the kitchen making them tea - not his idea - but Carrie had insisted; she sat in the armchair pulled up close to Kate and was leaned over with her elbows on her knees.

"You look like death," Carrie said matter-of-factly. "But with the way Richard hovers - I guess that's an improvement."

Kate felt the hard laugh claw out of her throat and heard the dog whining in her lap, nose nudging under her arm as if Sasha wanted to bury her face in Kate's side. She released her death grip on the dog and tried to smooth her fur, staring at the mottled brown of her back, the white streak at her muzzle. She was a gorgeous dog; she was alive and not shot dead outside a cave.

"I - uh - we were on assignment in Russia. It went south. I got Castle out of there - he'd been badly injured - but I had to stay behind. Ran into some trouble."

"She went thirteen days without food or water," Castle interrupted with a huff. He handed Carrie a mug of hot tea first, then turned to Kate, waited until she had it before he let go. "I finally got back to Russia, found her in a cave. Basically."

Kate tried to rally, but it was a losing effort. She wrapped her fingers around the mug's warm sides and inhaled darjeeling, the dog heavy in her lap. She sank back into the couch cushions and sipped slowly, closing her eyes.

"You're having some flashbacks," Carrie said then. Kate startled and looked over at their friend; she was sitting back in the chair now, but there was knowledge on her face. Kate cut a look to Castle but Carrie went on. "I've seen it before. Mark. I've been around this block."

"Yeah," Kate answered, feeling some of her old energy come back to her. "Sorry. I - I thought it was under control."

"Shellshock comes and goes, honey," Carrie said. "Not something you can really control."

"If not controlled, then handled," Kate murmured back, sipping at her tea again.

Castle shifted closer on the couch, laid his hand over the dog's back. "We're working on it."

"There was a wolf," Kate confessed. "He got shot and I - there was nothing - I thought to try to eat but it didn't work out."

Carrie sighed, her face melting into sympathy, and she leaned forward to embrace Kate, her hug both strong and gentle at the same time. "I can see how an overly enthusiastic puppy might be a little much."

Kate felt the blush suffusing her cheeks but there was only kindness in Carrie's eyes. Castle's hand on the dog creeped up and slipped under Kate's elbow. She turned and met the softness on his face, his concern for her something she could crawl inside, be safe forever - but only if she wanted to never come out again. She looked back to the dog instead.

Carrie cleared her throat. "Look, the drive back is a bitch in rush hour. Stay and have dinner with me. I bought corn on the cob from the guy at the county line. It's sweet."

Kate could feel Castle's gaze on her, seeking her agreement, but it wasn't even a problem. She wanted to stay. It would be good for them.

"Yeah. Can we help you put it together?"

* * *

It was fun. They hadn't gotten the chance to hang out with non-Agency people in months, and yet Carrie knew enough not to ask. So the tension was gone, the carefully worded answers to oblivious questions. Carrie made things easy.

Castle glanced over at his wife as she sat at the dining room table, shucking ears of corn, the dog lying at her feet patiently, ears cocked and head tilted, about as watchful and alert towards her as Castle himself. The dog knew; Sasha must be able to sense the change in Kate.

He shifted his gaze to Carrie and she was watching him, a smile playing around her lips as she marinated chicken in a big bowl. Her fingers were dark with sauce and she nodded towards the casserole dish.

"Get that for me?"

He brought it over and set it down on the counter next to where she was working. "Thanks for dinner."

"You're helping," she laughed. "Making you do the veggies. We can saute them."

"Yeah, yeah, definitely." He rooted around in her cabinet until he found the wide pan, then brought it on top of the stove, headed for the fridge. "I'll have you know, I've gotten adept at cooking. Is this all there is? - squash, zucchini, broccoli?"

"And I think some cabbage leaves. You see those?"

He hunted through the crisper until he found the rest of the fresh vegetables, and he pulled them out, cradling them against his shirt as he looked around for a place to start. Carrie had her hands full but she nodded her head towards another cabinet and he found a cutting board.

"Knife's in the block," she said then. "How're you guys doing?" Her voice was lower, her look just for him.

Castle glanced quickly towards Kate but she was feeding Sasha baby carrots from a plastic bag. She was murmuring words of love to the dog, the corn already shucked in front of her, as Sasha's teeth flashed and gnawed at the treat. Kate was doing really well even with that muzzle so close to the still-visible scars on her arm.

"We're okay."

"It'll take a while to get bounce back from thirteen days," Carrie spoke. "You know that, right? You need to back off and give her that time."

"Back off," he repeated, frowning at her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean stop hovering. Stop catching her before she can even trip. Give her the chance to fall apart without you."

He opened his mouth but found he had absolutely nothing he could say to that. Nothing. Except _no_.

"You didn't see her at your funeral, Richard," Carrie went on.

He flushed and growled under his breath, tried not to slice his fingers off as he chopped angrily at the broccoli. "We've gotten past that."

"I'm not saying you're not forgiven. I'm saying she's the type who has to rebuild herself from the inside out. You can't do it for her. She has to stand on her own. That's the kind of woman she is - and she was doing it then, when you were dead; she was working her way there. She can do it again - for something a lot less. Starving in a cave? You're alive, so I think she's going to be stronger than you expect."

Castle clenched his hand around the squash, put it on the cutting board, trying to focus. Couldn't get the image of Kate at his funeral out of his head though.

"Hey, I'm not trying to make you feel shitty," she murmured. Her hand came to grip his elbow. "I just want Kate to have a chance. Both of you."

He nodded. "I got it. I know. She needs independence when she's dealing with this stuff. And I want her to get stronger. Not... falling down the steps because of a dog." He frowned and cut into the squash, one slice after another, watching the yellow skin split neatly under the blade. "We're - we want to try. To have kids."

Carrie let out a soft breath and he knew it was because she'd just spent the last three weeks - four actually - baby-sitting their dog. But she didn't say that. "Yeah? You plan on cutting back your hours?"

"That was our last overseas assignment for - at least a year. Beckett's on disability for six months, and probably longer, the way things are going."

"Oh yeah?"

"You guys talking about me?" Kate said then.

Castle turned but she was still sitting at the kitchen table, stroking her fingers through the dog's fur. She lifted her eyes to his and Castle winced. "Yeah, sweetheart. We are."

She sighed and put her elbow on the table, propped her head up. "What about? The fact that I have PTSD and can't hold my shit together, or some other wonderful thing?"

Carrie laughed - actually laughed - and put the last of the chicken into the casserole dish. "It's all pretty wonderful. But Richard says you guys want to start a family."

Kate's face lit up. He could hardly breathe at the beauty that shined out from her eyes, suffused her cheeks. "Yeah. Soon as we get things settled."

"That's pretty wonderful," Carrie said softly. "And yeah, I'll baby-sit for you guys."

Kate laughed then too, her lips pressing into a smile, but she startled when Sasha put her head on Kate's knees. She cupped her hands around the dog's ears and glanced down, her face going soft again.

"We're going to be better," she said quietly. And then her gaze lifted and met Castle's straight on, intent and definite and practically daring him to say differently. "No more months gone. We run most of our ops from New York. And if we have to go overseas, we go as a team. Never separated again."

"And you'll stop racing into the mouth of danger?" Carrie said, but she was smirking at them both. "Stop kicking ass and taking names?"

"No," Castle gasped. "Never."

Kate laughed then too, dislodging the dog's head, and she stood and came towards them both at the kitchen counter. Her arm slid around Castle's waist and she leaned into him. "I said better. Not boring."

* * *

Kate sat cross-legged on the couch with Sasha curled in a tight ball in her lap. She didn't fit - not even close - but Kate kept her arms around the dog, stroking her back and between her ears, over and over. She knew it was self-soothing, but it was also her way of forcing the issue. Getting past it.

Everything.

If she could do this, be normal with her own dog, then she could get over the rest of it too. Sasha tucked her head tighter into Kate's knee, and Carrie's dog, Bo, nosed over to press his muzzle into Kate's hand, jealous.

"Bo," Carrie chastised. "Bo, leave her alone."

"He's okay." Kate answered automatically. She lifted her hand and smoothed Bo's mottled fur; he was a mixed breed, something between beagle and a long-legged fox terrier. "Hey, buddy. You need some attention?"

"I'm thinking about getting a rescue," Carrie said then, settling back in her chair. Castle was washing the dishes in the kitchen, surprisingly out of the mix, and Kate glanced over her shoulder to check on him. He was bobbing his head to some music only he could hear and she felt the smile flicker over her face.

"A rescue?" she murmured, turning back to look at Carrie. "Another dog."

"Bo misses Sasha when she's not here. And it'd be good to have another one around. Mark wanted a couple of dogs, like hunting pals, but I thought Bo was all I could handle."

Kate tilted her head against her palm, her elbow propped up on the armrest as she studied Sasha's fur. "Did you and Mark ever want kids?"

"Oh, jeez, no," Carrie laughed, making Kate jerk her head up to look.

"No?" She left a hand on Sasha's neck, could practically feel the slow thump of the dog's heart. "Just the dogs."

"Just the dogs. Mark was one of those rare optimistic pessimists. He felt like the world was going to hell, but maybe he could change things. But in the meantime, no use having a kid to inherit that." Carrie gave her a slow, sad smile. "And I don't know. Kids give me the creeps."

Kate startled into laughter, raising a hand to cover her mouth. That her laugh wasn't hysterical, that it was honest amusement made her feel relaxed for the first time all day. "Give you the creeps, huh?"

"Babies." Carrie shuddered, and although Kate could tell she was playing it up, there was still an ease to her words that meant she truly never had wanted the same thing that Kate and Castle wanted for themselves. "Just - it's so messy. A little parasitical. And your body's never your own after that, and it's just - all the time - incessant, never-ending need. I couldn't do it."

Kate chuckled and shifted against the back of the couch. "Hm. Well."

"Oh shit," Carrie said, sitting upright in the chair. "Sorry. That - ignore what I said. Babies are great. You'll love it. I'm sure."

Kate laughed again at her friend's faked enthusiasm, but Carrie only shrugged. Castle came up behind Kate and pressed his hands into her shoulders, bearing down a little, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. She looked over at him and gestured for him to sit.

"Hey there," he murmured. "What're we talking about?"

"How gross babies are," Kate smiled. His arm slid along the back of the couch, fingers tickling at her neck.

"They're gross? Hey, why didn't anyone tell me that?"

"Not too late," Carrie said with a shrug. "At least... I mean, unless there's something you wanted to tell me?"

Kate groaned. "You think I could even _get_ pregnant? Like this?"

Castle growled but Carrie snickered as she shook her head. "Nope, not a bit. You're skin and bones. Barely make a dent in my couch."

"A shade of my former-"

"That's not funny," Castle muttered. "Not funny."

"It's kinda funny," Carrie said back, shrugging. "Kate?"

"Yup. Kinda funny."

Castle shot her a scathing look, but she saw the involuntary amusement stirring at the back of his eyes. She liked seeing it, liked that he was teasing a little too, that his fingers in her hair were both soothing and seductive.

"Can we move on from belittling my wife? She's already little enough."

Kate and Carrie both groaned, and Kate slapped at Castle's chest with a roll of her eyes. "That was lame."

"No way. That was perfect. Come on."

"Yeah, you're definitely not the brains of this outfit," Carrie laughed. "You better leave the smart-ass-ness to the wife."

"And what am I supposed to do?" he muttered.

Kate leaned over and kissed his cheek softly. "You're just arm candy, sweetheart. Might be good to know your place."

* * *

Before the evening was over, Castle got a text from Mitchell saying he couldn't get the regimen, and he sank back against the couch with a sigh. Felt like Mitch was blowing him off; he'd have to talk to him face to face, because he _would _have those supplements for Kate, even if it meant sneaking them out.

"So. You want to tell me your version?" Carrie remarked, one dark blonde eyebrow raising.

Castle glanced over at Kate to be sure she was truly unconscious; she'd fallen asleep on the couch only a few minutes after dessert, her head on Sasha's back, fingers curled in the dog's fur. Her legs were in his lap and he kept his hands over her ankles, finally turned back to Carrie.

"My version."

"Of your Russian vacation," she said. Bo was circling in a tight spot beside her chair, looking for a more comfortable position, and then he flopped to the floor with a huff. Carrie lowered her hand over the armrest and scratched the top of his head. "She played it off, but it had to be brutal. She's not - not the same. She's trying. But..."

"Yeah. You know I can't-"

"Leave out the classified bits, of course. But you and I both know there are parts you can tell me."

He hadn't ever thought of what Mark might have told her - the parts he could tell - or how much his old partner had protected his wife. He knew that Mark had started the journaling thing that he and Kate still continued - writing letters to his wife about the more emotional aspects of a mission - but how much had they talked to each other about this life?

Did she know how bad-

"I know how bad it can get," Carrie said, reading his mind. "When you nearly got your hand chopped off - who do think was the one who drove Mark to McGuire Air Force Base so he could fly to your bedside?"

Castle winced.

"Who do you think was the one waiting at home with your dog when _weeks_ went by and still I'd heard nothing? I called Mitchell. He's the only contact I have there beside you guys, and I knew I couldn't call Black. Tell me I did right, Richard. Calling Mitch."

He sighed. "You did right. I'm sorry for that."

"So. Give me the real story."

"Kate and I have been on assignment in Russia for - most of the past month, little over."

"Little over," Carrie said, two fingers pressed to her lips as if to hide the smirk.

"Fine," he muttered, rolling his eyes at her. But like Kate, her snark lightened his mood. "I've been out for at least seven weeks, and Kate most of that time as well. We were needed for a - delicate situation. We got caught out in the field; we were in between two armed forces. A mortar shell went off and I was injured pretty badly. I don't know - don't remember it."

"That's what she meant," Carrie sighed, glancing to Kate, studying her.

Castle did the same, his eyes dwelling on the long line of her body as it stretched across the couch. Her hand was under her mouth, lashes brushing the dog's fur, her limbs settled heavily in sleep.

"She said you guys got separated. I guess she did the separating? To save your life, judging by the look on your face."

"She called for back-up and it happened to be my father who flew to the rescue. He managed to convince her she couldn't come - that he'd never get both of us out of there alive - and of course she agreed-"

"So you blame her."

"No," he grit out.

"Sounds like you do."

He took in a harsh breath and stared at Kate instead of looking at Carrie as she called him on his bullshit.

"Okay. She did the best she could. She - she saved my life and yeah, I'm having a hard time with her putting me first - above herself."

"She said you'd have died. But what happened to her?"

"Couldn't make it to the rendezvous. She got stuck in a series of caves while one of those armed forces hunted for her."

"For how long?"

"Nearly two weeks," he admitted. Carrie made a noise and he glanced up to see real distress on her face. She rose from the chair and sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, reached out to softly push back the hair from Kate's face.

"She's lost too much weight," Carrie said softly. "She needs a balanced-"

"We have some suggestions from the doctors in Germany, on base, but I've been trying to get hold of Mitchell and see if he can't get us some of the regimen."

Carrie turned troubled eyes to him. "You can't give her that."

"What?" He glanced swiftly to Kate. "Why not?"

"It's not - it's experimental, Richard. Jeez. Are you kidding me?"

"What are you talking about? The program - the CIA uses this program all the time. Shit, I've been on it since I was-"

"Five, yeah, I know." She winced and reached out to him now, squeezing his hand. "Mark told me. He thought you knew."

"Knew _what_?"

"The regimen, Richard. It's not CIA based - the CIA doesn't do that."

He stared back at her. "What do you - no, look, after every damn mission, every rehab assignment I had - it was the regimen. He-"

Castle stopped short, swiped his hand down his face as he realized he was insisting that his father had been telling him the truth, that his father hadn't been deceiving him for his own purposes. Right.

"It wasn't anything that Mark ever had," Carrie said gently. "Richard..."

"Ah, shit," he groaned, leaning back against the couch once more, hand over his eyes. "Shit."

"You don't know what that stuff will do to her."

"Do you know what it is?" he asked, lifting his head as he heard the knowledge in her voice. "Eastman told you?"

"Mark was worried about you. He'd heard about this Army Ranger squad in Afghanistan who went AWOL after some experimental shit - rumors it was your father's stuff, a test he was doing. So he brought a vial home to me to see what we could figure out. A few of the pills too."

"To you?"

She tilted her head and gave him a funny look. "I was a chemist for a few years and then I became a registered dietician. You know that, right?"

"I guess I did. At one time?" Oh. A dietician. "You could help with Kate. Give us a kind of training diet, something to rebuild muscle, tailored to her, right?"

"Yeah, of course. You didn't get something like that from the doctors in Germany?"

"No," he said softly, shaking his head. "Not really. Just general warnings to stay away from alcohol and some medications. Her organs have been taxed by the dehydration and malnutrition, so they said not to make her liver do a lot of work."

"And there's more," she sighed, frowning over at Kate. "But yeah, I'll work up a care plan for you guys. You did get rehab assignments though, right?"

"Yeah," he nodded quickly. "CIA took care of that. For sure. Though we're having trouble getting in touch with the guy. And therapy - a shrink." He shot her a look but at least she was smiling back at him.

"Good, therapy is good. Not just for her, right? Because I think it's a good idea for you too."

He shrugged. "I'm most worried about her, but I've got a couple appointments. She's seeing Dr King - I think you saw him with Mark, right?"

"For a little bit, yeah. Dr King is the one you're seeing too?"

Castle shot her a look, warned by the tone of her voice. "What. Carrie."

"No, no, King is great. Really good, actually, because he's been with you since the beginning. He knows about whatever it is your father was giving you."

Castle felt the blood leech out of his face. "He does?"

"Not in a bad way," Carrie said quickly. "I mean - whatever it was in those drugs - I do know that mood enhancements were part of the chemical make-up, so it stands to reason that Black would need a therapist to keep track of that stuff."

"And King was the man for the job," he said stonily. "Why didn't Mark say something to me?"

"Richard - the injections, the pills, the whole thing? The best Mark could figure was that your father was getting you primed for the life. Wanted to make you in peak physical and mental condition. There were some unknowns in the vial of serum, plus some things I couldn't see how they helped _or_ hurt you, not with my limited knowledge, but neither of us thought you were suffering because of it. And - and it was your father. We didn't know then what we know now."

He scraped a hand down his face again. "King was tracking me."

"I think a better term is monitoring? Just to make sure that whatever was in those supplements didn't have any adverse effects. So I'm glad you're seeing King. That's a good idea; he'll know your history."

Castle leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "But... it worked, right? The regimen worked. I was always out of the hospital in half the time they predicted. I _am _- or I was - in peak condition. So it worked."

She shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know. I - maybe? Mark tried to pay attention to you, keep on eye on things, but he wouldn't tell me much. And now he's gone."

He shut his mouth; he could see she wasn't happy with the idea of the regimen either, just like Kate. But it _had _worked. And if he could figure out what it was his father had given him, be certain of it, he'd use it on Kate too.

The doctors had warned him that it would be a long, uphill battle, that her organs might never be one hundred percent again, that the severity of her dehydration and malnutrition meant it was a miracle Kate had lived to make it to them.

It was his fault she'd been stuck out there so long. He needed to fix it. She wanted a family - they both wanted a family - and he could give that to her if he had those supplements.

"Richard?"

"If you don't mind, you can set up a diet for her?" he said quietly, meeting Carrie's eyes again so she couldn't see the other plans going on in his head. "A healthy eating plan, stuff for after rehab assignments, before workouts, whatever she needs."

"Of course," Carrie said softly. She gave him a hesitant touch, her fingers around his wrist. "And you might want to check in with Dr King. Okay? Because I don't know what being off the regimen for this long will do to you - you shouldn't quit mood stabilizers cold turkey."

He nodded. "Yeah. I understand. I'll ask him about it."

And a few other questions as well.


	5. Chapter 5

**Close Encounters 11**

* * *

Kate jerked awake to darkness and the heavy touch of a hand against her neck. She sucked in a breath and lifted her head, swiped at the wetness against her cheek with a grunting laugh. She felt strange.

"Hey," he whispered, stooped over her. "Carrie made up the guest bed."

"Mm, good. Thanks." Kate drew her feet down and realized she'd fallen asleep on top of Sasha. "Poor puppy. I'm sorry."

Castle laughed softly but he backed off and let her get to her feet on her own; he didn't even grip her elbow to balance her. She yawned and stretched her arms over her head, felt the rest ripple over her and shiver into her muscles. On the couch, Sasha sat up and mimicked her, yawning and stretching back. The dog shook herself and jumped down, padding towards the back hallway and looking over her shoulder at them to follow.

"Carrie still up?" Kate said quietly, shuffling forward.

"Yeah. She's getting us some pajamas."

Kate checked the time on the oven as she passed the kitchen. "It's only nine and I'm not tired now." She turned back to Castle and slid her arm through his. "You mind if I catch up with her?"

"No," he said quietly. "Not at all. Girl talk?"

"Or something," she murmured with a smile. He looked so serious, so intent on her, that Kate couldn't help lifting to her toes and brushing her lips against his cheek in a kiss. "You sleep."

"Wake me when you come to bed."

She shook her head softly at him. "No, sweetheart. You need rest. More than I've allowed you between my nightmares and our... practice." She gave him a wink and gripped his arm when he looked like he was going to argue with her about it.

"But there's stuff we should catch up on," he persisted, a frown creasing his forehead.

"No-"

"You guys - all I could find," Carrie said from behind them. Kate turned and saw the woman holding up a t-shirt in one hand and a pair of what had to be Eastman's old sweatpants. Castle reached past Kate and took the pants; Carrie tossed the t-shirt into his face with a smirk. "That's for you too."

Kate glanced back and saw that the tension had eased a little in him and she was grateful to Carrie for it.

"Kate, you can pick out a pair of my pjs," Carrie added, reaching out for Kate and tugging her.

"Yeah, thanks," she smiled, switching from Castle to Carrie and following the woman down the hall.

"Hey now," Castle called after them. "Come on. Not even a good night kiss?"

Kate tossed him a sultry look over her shoulder, pressed her fingers to her mouth and blew him a kiss. "Castle, sweetheart, you'll get your good night kiss later."

"Yesss," Castle hissed, giving a completely immature fist pump and turning away.

Carrie snorted. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

Kate laughed at the woman and headed with her into the master bedroom, both dogs following them, side by side, a couple of fast friends.

"They're sweet," Carrie murmured, leaning over to stroke her fingers over the top of first Bo's head and then Sasha's. "Here you go, Kate. Take your pick."

They weren't her style, but they were simple and light. Little boxer shorts and a tank top with small printed flowers. Kate got her fingers under the hem of her shirt and tugged it over her head, felt the cold air along her stomach. When she pulled the tank top on, Carrie was in the master bathroom brushing her teeth.

Kate changed into the borrowed pajamas quickly and hung her clothes over the chair in the corner. "Hey, you feel like talking?" she called out. "I got in a nap but you-"

"I could stay up," Carrie said, taking a half-step out of the bathroom to grin at her, toothbrush in hand. "You wanna do a sleepover?"

Kate laughed back and nodded. "Movie and popcorn?"

"Yeah," Carrie grinned, turning now and spitting out toothpaste. "Forget brushing. Let me go see if I have M&Ms too." She came out of the bathroom wiping her mouth on the back of her hand but she stopped in the middle of the room. "Um. Richard could..."

"No way," Kate rolled her eyes. "He's been stuck on me like glue for the last... uh, three weeks or so."

"I bet," Carrie said softly. Sometimes Kate forgot how... missing she must feel sometimes. A part of her hollowed out by the lack of Mark. She wished she hadn't said it, but Carrie came back and hugged her impulsively, her grip tight. "I'm glad. I wanted some time - just us."

Kate let out a breath and embraced her back, surprised by how _good_ it felt to have a friend. A girl friend and not just an overprotective male who also felt responsible for every little weakness, every small injury. Another woman who knew what the life was like and didn't judge, but who would also tell her straight.

Jeez, she was a little pathetic, wasn't she?

"Want help making popcorn?" Kate asked.

"Nope. It'll take like two minutes. And I'm serious about the M&Ms. So you turn on the tv in here and see if there are any movies on demand."

Kate bit her bottom lip, couldn't help the grin that spread across her face. "Thanks, Carrie."

"No. Really. Thank _you_."

* * *

Castle struggled out of sleep to something foreign. Sounds he couldn't place, couldn't identify. He blinked slowly in the darkness of an unfamiliar room and then realized.

Giggling.

He heard giggling.

What the hell?

Castle leveraged himself out of the guest bed with a grunt and got to his feet, swaying as he put weight on his still tender leg, the scar throbbing at the sudden change in position. It took him a second, the blood thundering through his veins, and then he lurched for the doorway, called on by that laughter.

No. Not laughter. It was just _giggling._

Like a siren song.

Castle stumbled against the wall as he moved down the hallway, and then he saw the half-closed door to the master bedroom, could hear their giggles tripping through the air. He nudged his shoulder into the door and it opened wider, revealing the room beyond.

Kate and Carrie had their heads together on the master bed, Kate's little tank top riding up and revealing a long swathe of Rome-goldened skin. They were on their stomachs and giggling, and they didn't stop even as he came into the room.

"Hey, there, super spy," Kate said, her grin wide and bright as she tucked her chin into the heel of her hand. Her feet were up behind her, swinging a little, and she made such a strange picture that he couldn't help smiling back. The dogs had settled in at the head of the bed, curled up together and mirroring their owners.

"What are you two doing?" he asked, tilting his head to study them.

"Hey. Down in front," Carrie grumbled, narrowing her eyes at him. He turned and saw the doors to the entertainment center open, the television on and showing a movie. Instead of dropping down, Castle instead grabbed the bowl of popcorn and flopped in between them, wriggling to make room.

Kate laughed and shoved back, the mostly-gone popcorn sloshing in the bowl, and Carrie on his other side took it away from him, set it on the floor.

"What're we watching?" he said, wriggling his eyebrows. And his ass.

Kate grunted but she laid her head against his thigh and answered, "Valentine's Day."

He growled. "Boo."

He got hits from both sides for that, but Carrie's was weaker and she had propped her head on her arm, her eyes barely open now. Kate nuzzled closer and Castle shifted to lean back on a hand, using his other to card his fingers through her hair.

The movie played on - the women on either side of him drowsing and falling quiet, the dogs settled, the house silent around them. He watched and didn't watch, let the motion of her breathing and the softness of her hair lull him too.

"You ruined our sleepover," she sighed then, but her eyes were closed.

"Ruined?" he scoffed. "No way. All you were doing was talking about boys anyway. Now you have one in the flesh."

"Such nice flesh," she murmured, and he could tell that she meant to pinch his ass, but her fingers barely made a dent. He laughed softly and glanced to Carrie, but she was asleep.

"Movie's over, Kate," he said then, the credits already slipping past the screen. "Come on. Let's go to bed. Leave Carrie to hers."

Kate hummed something but she was slipping away from him, stolen by sleep.

Castle sighed and glanced around the dark room, then behind him to the dogs, but _everyone_ was asleep.

So he gave up, eased Kate's head from his lap, and left her in bed with Carrie and the dogs. He went back to the guest bedroom alone, but it was okay.

At least she'd sleep tonight.

* * *

Kate woke and didn't know why, felt the soft susurration of the dogs' breathing at her feet, the warm body faintly at her side. She turned her head and saw Carrie was curled on her side, facing Kate, sleeping as well. Past her, the alarm glowed a green two o'clock.

Sasha snuffled and twitched in dreams, and Kate turned slowly onto her back, staring up at the smooth ceiling shadowed by the moon. Her heart rate was even, steady, and her body was still that liquid heaviness of deep sleep.

She was anchored to the bed by it, but her leg was tingling faintly with numbness; she didn't want to move but she figured it was that sensation that had woken her. She should shift off her hip to keep the blood flowing but she felt unmotivated.

A noise made her lift to her elbows, her breath caught at the shiver that went down her spine. She didn't know why, but the darkness pressed harder, felt stronger against her body, like it could drown her.

Kate slid out of bed and headed instinctively for the hallway, needing the movement, a wider and more open space. Her feet were soundless against the carpet and she wrapped her arms around her midsection and tried not to wake anyone with her restless, strange wakefulness.

She slipped down the dark hall and paused at the open door to the guest room, haunting the deeper shadows until she could see inside. Castle was lying flat on his back, both hands resting at his chest like a funeral pose, and she pushed her way to the bed and put a knee to the mattress, hovering over him.

He was rigid. So stiff that she could see the whites of his knuckles and feel the hard ridge of his thigh where it met hers. She sank back on her heel and laid a touch over his clasped hands.

He was drenched in sweat, body quivering with it - some intense dream or nightmare. Unmoving, taut, and then a half moan was dragged out of his chest.

Kate pressed herself over him, framing his face with her hands, whispering his name to wake him, pull him out of it. He was so hard under her that his lines were sharp and painful; she brushed her cheek to his and kissed him, breathed against the terse cut of his mouth.

"Castle. Rick. Wake up. Wake up, love," she murmured again, stroking her fingers along the rough stubble at his cheeks. His hair was flopped with sweat, his neck slick under her touch. "Castle. Come on. It's okay, you're okay."

Castle flinched hard and jerked under her, a gasp torn out of his mouth and his hands twisting to grip her shirt in his fists.

She stayed still.

His breath came out in a groan and then he wrapped his arms around her back and rolled her under him. She grunted in surprise but he was already burying his face in her neck and gulping down air, so she did what she could, curling an arm at his neck and stroking her fingers at his ear, soothing him in silence.

His mouth was open at her collarbone and she felt the moment he swallowed it down - whatever that had been, nightmare or night terror - and then his elbows dug into the mattress and he pushed himself off of her.

She clung to him instead, kept his body close by hooking her leg at his knee, her pelvis rising to bump his. "Stay, stay," she murmured. "You can stay. I won't break."

He dropped back down over her again, another gust of shaky breath, but this time it was only his hips pinning hers, his broad chest surrounding her but still held away. She got a hand between them and brushed the back of her fingers under his borrowed t-shirt, skidding over sweat as she traveled up and down again. He was still breathing so hard, taking air like drowning man, and she nuzzled closer, hummed at his neck because she knew he liked that.

His body eased slowly, so slowly, and then he was down one one shoulder, his head dipping to her chest, his long exhalations washing her skin with awareness. Castle finally rested in the bed once more, his eyes closed, and it was her turn to slide her knee between his, draw designs on his back with soft, patternless fingers.

Castle let out one long breath and then tilted his head and kissed her neck, sweet and sleepy, already transitioning back down into slumber.

Kate pressed her palm to his t-shirt and felt his heated skin beneath her touch, turned her cheek into his to take a deep breath of his scent. Musk and fear and need. He was mumbling something now and curling his arm up at her back, arranging her closer, and she let herself be maneuvered.

Castle's lips parted on a final supplication and then he was lost to her again.

Kate felt her own body being dragged back down, the hypnosis of Castle's even breathing and peaceful heart, and she closed her eyes against the darkness. She slid her hand down his back and let her fingers slip into the waist of his pajama pants, fingers warming against his skin, and then she slid off the edge into sleep.

* * *

They left Carrie's house with Sasha and a dietary plan, including vitamins and herbal supplements that might speed recovery and repair lost muscle. It wasn't the regimen, obviously, but now the regimen was suspect in Castle's mind; he wasn't sure what he felt about it.

The dog kept sticking her nose over the armrest and licking their elbows, so happy to be going home with them. He felt a little guilty for all the time they spent away, but he'd already resolved to be different. It would have to do.

Castle drove while Kate poured over the pages Carrie had printed, articles about atrophy and exercise, as well as a few studies done with teens who were overcoming anorexia. Castle felt nervous about those, but Kate seemed fascinated.

"Did you know pregnancy can cause malnutrition?" she murmured.

Castle glanced over at her in the morning light, the pale gauze of her skin over the bones of her face. "Oh?" he replied, his guts tightening.

"Yeah. I mean, obviously, that's why they give you prenatal vitamins, but even with vitamins, you can still end up not getting enough."

"That's scary," he muttered, frowning into the horizon, eyes on the road. "How would you know? Would they know? I mean that would do damage-"

"They'd know," she said softly. He glanced over at her and saw that she was reaching for him. Her hand came to his thigh and squeezed. "The doctor's right on top of you during a pregnancy, Castle."

"But if you've had it before, are you more likely to get it?"

"It's not a disease," she laughed.

He shrugged uncomfortably, but he still was filing that away in the back of his mind. For later. Just in case.

"Do you want me to keep the rest of this to myself?" she asked then.

"What? Why?" He gave her another sharp look, tried to read her.

"Too much information. I don't know. I don't want to make you crazy worrying about me."

"Might be too late for that," he admitted, wincing a little. She'd shifted to put her elbow on the arm rest so she could keep her hand at his thigh, warm.

"Carrie wants me to eat six small meals a day," she said then. Her voice sounded funny as she bent over the pages, reading from them. "A meal in between breakfast and lunch, another in between lunch and dinner, and then another one at night before bed. She's got specific things too. Lots of protein for breakfast. Ew. I'm not going to be able to eat bacon."

"No bacon?" he said, felt his lips tugging into a smile.

"No. I can't stand the smell."

"All right, no bacon, you heathen. Does Carrie have any more suggestions like that?"

"She's got it all mapped out. What to eat every single meal. They're small though. I could actually keep this all down. I think."

"Good," he said, nodding his head, eager to have a plan in place. "Anything else? We should probably do a grocery run."

"Some herbal supplements - fish oil and Vitamin B, calcium, a few others. Ooh, something called orexin? She has here that it's an appetite stimulant. I didn't know they had those."

"Where do you find that?" he asked, glancing over at her. She'd already pulled out her phone, looked like she was opening the browser to search for it. "Is that in a health food store? Because we could get the fish oil pills and stuff there."

"Hmm, I'm looking."

He was cruising on the interstate now, half his attention on Kate rather than the drive. But he checked his mirrors and made certain that traffic was light before he glanced over at her again. He felt Sasha nudging his elbow and he reached back quickly to scratch behind her ears, frowning at Kate.

"What's it say?"

"Nutrition supplement," she murmured. "So yeah. Vitamin Shoppe on Broadway. You know the place?"

"Near World Trade?" he asked, shifting his hand to the bottom of the steering wheel to ease the Land Rover into the slower lane.

"Yeah, that's it," she answered. "We could head there after the tunnel, find a spot to park."

"Sounds like a plan. Walk Sasha a little. You're good?"

"I'm good," she insisted. Her hand was making light patterns over the top of his leg while she scanned the articles in her lap. Her hair had fallen free of the bun and the individual strands looked nearly auburn in the morning light. Her nose wrinkled up at something she was reading, and Castle pulled his eyes back to the road.

She was good. He believed it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Close Encounters 11**

* * *

Kate hadn't been expecting a conversation like this.

When he'd found a parking place about five blocks from the vitamin store, they'd walked hand in hand down Church Street before they could cross over to Broadway, mostly silent and enjoying the pre-lunch rush as Sasha nudged ahead on her leash. Kate still had moments where the crowd could get to her, but with Castle at her side, warm and strong, and her attention mostly on the dog, those moments were bare flickers on her consciousness.

And then Castle started talking.

About the regimen, about wanting to get supplements for her, injections if they had them, about Mitchell telling him there weren't any, and finally about Carrie's revelation: it hadn't been a CIA project; it had been a Black project.

The way he said it made her heart thud slow, a tripping down into her stomach. He said it like it had never occurred to him - his father's hand in things. She wrapped her fingers around Sasha's leash and pressed her teeth into her bottom lip, studying him until she couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"Castle," she interrupted. "Didn't you already - I mean - didn't you realize that?"

He gave her a swift look, that crease settling deeper between his brows. "What do you mean?"

"Castle." She squeezed his hand like that could dull the blow. "When you said - well, since you were five? I highly doubt that even the CIA could get past oversight to do some kind of human experiment on a real kid. I have always assumed it was something Black did on his own."

"Well, shit, I'm the last to know," he mumbled. She caught him drawing a hand down his face and she stepped a little closer, released him to instead curl her fingers at his shoulder and press her side against his arm.

"Does it make it worse?" she asked.

"I don't know. Yeah?"

"Don't you think it'd be worse if the CIA _had_ allowed it. That they would care so little for the people they're supposed to be protecting?"

"Well, and the same could be said for my _father_," he sighed. "But I guess we've known that for a while now."

"Not that I'm defending him, but-"

"Then don't," he growled, shooting her a swift look.

"But," she insisted. "Black only wanted to make you into the perfect CIA agent. A machine. To do that very job - protect the people, the nation, this way of life. And Castle, I don't like it - I don't agree with it - I don't support it. But I think it's better than the CIA being the one behind it."

He was silent beside her, moody as he sometimes could be, and she released his shoulder to give him space. She let Sasha have a little more rope and roamed ahead with her, proud of the way the dog kept to herself, didn't try to knock into people or wrap the leash around passing pedestrians. She was well-behaved, but Kate thought it was out of an innate sense of reserve; the dog wanted only to be kept apart.

The day was warming up with the sun slanting through offices and churches, hotels and the 9-11 memorial. She turned left and reached out to pull Castle towards Broadway; he seemed to come back to himself as he took her hand again, the cloud over his face beginning to thin.

The vitamin store was busy for a week day, but they split up so Kate could stay outside with the dog. The thought of going inside alone with the crowd at her back made her flesh crawl, and standing on the sidewalk with Sasha at heel felt infinitely more in control. Castle took no time at all to find the things Carrie had suggested, and he was back at her side with a paper bag in hand, nodding down towards the direction of their car.

"Go back or find a place to eat?"

"It's only eleven," she remarked.

"She did say six meals." He was grinning at her, a lift of his eyebrow like their previous conversation was all but gone.

"She did. But Sasha."

"Outdoor cafe?" he returned. There was urgency in the back of his eyes, like he wanted to be sure about her, he wanted to push her to see how much she could take. It made her want to prove herself, hating it at the same time, and she half-bent at the waist to stroke the dog, hiding the mute rebellion on her face.

"Fine. Let's find an outdoor deli, okay? That was her suggestion. Small sandwich. Wheat bread, unbleached flour."

"I think there's a place near here," he said back. "Julio's." But unlike her, Castle didn't automatically reach for his phone to map it out; he headed back up the block to scout it with his eyes.

Kate found herself amused by his eagerness, softening again, and she followed at his side, trying to force herself to relax into people watching. She used to love it, used to sit on a bench and eat her lunch outside the 12th on slow days and let her mind drift over the pedestrians, idly noting their vital stats.

She remembered that assignment in Versailles with him, and how Castle had come up with stories for the people they saw, stupid or silly or somehow so poignant - each tale revealing some secret, some hidden detail she hadn't caught. Castle saw more than she did, but she had always enjoyed the game.

Now people watching made her uncomfortable, made her hand twitch for a weapon, something solid at her side. At least she had the dog, though Sasha's quiet and sudden appearance at her knee sometimes shot panic like a current under her skin, making her palms sweat.

Castle was ranging far ahead of her now, and she wrapped the leash around her fingers once more, unwilling to lose Sasha in the crowd. The throng of workers heading out for lunch meetings pressed around her and she had the stifling sensation of needing to call out but not having the words, not even having the voice.

A taxi roared past and she flinched, growled to herself for the instinctive reaction. Shit, she'd almost _dropped to the sidewalk _over a damn cab. She pulled her mind away from the past, from the darkness and cold nights in Russia, and made herself bask in the sunlight, and the warmth of Sasha who was pressing her body to Kate's leg. It filled her again - the sensation she'd had lately that all of her life was laid out before her, ready and willing and _ripe_.

The life she wanted, the life she wanted with him.

And it didn't include this wide-ranging _weakness_.

* * *

Sasha laid across their feet and curled her long body around the table leg, her head resting civilly on her paws, her eyes following pedestrians as they passed. Castle tugged shredded chicken from the plate they'd bought solely for the dog and leaned down to feed it to her.

Kate gave a soft laugh and he lifted his eyes, saw the regard on her face as she watched him. Castle shrugged and the warm tongue came out over his fingers in gratitude. He swiped them on his pants and resumed his meal, being careful not to let Kate catch him studying the way she ate.

She had ordered only half a sandwich - no fruit or chips or pasta - and the lonely thing on her plate made him nervous. It couldn't be enough. But she was actually eating it, one slow bite after another, and it was the first time he'd seen her look relaxed about a meal. Like she wasn't afraid if she could handle it, like the thought of eating wasn't quite so daunting any more.

Smaller meals more often. He'd never have thought of that. In his mind, he needed to stuff her with calories and carbs, get as much in one sitting as he could, let her sleep off the drugged sensation afterwards.

"Stop, Castle," she murmured around her sandwich. Her gaze flicked up to him and down again, a desolation coming over her face that he thought might be his fault. She closed her eyes and turned her face away.

He clutched his hands into fists and took a breath, tried to beat past it, break through it. "Kate-"

"I'm just so tired of it," she said shortly. She shook her head at him and buried her forehead in her palm, elbow propped on the table, eyes opening once more to him. "Tired of being weak. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he said quietly, picking at his roast beef now, trying not to pressure her. "There's nothing to be sorry about."

"I just want to be done with this," she sighed again. She scraped her fingers back through her hair and leaned on her elbow hard, her eyes closing. "I want to fix it, take a pill, do the workout, whatever - just have it be _fixed_."

"I know," he said. His hands went to his lap as he watched her wilt. But even as she did, her shoulders straightened and her eyes flashed open and she shook her head.

"No. Done. I'm done with feeling like it's not - like I'm still back there. I'm not. I might be a little more exhausted, but I'm here."

He clasped his hands between his knees and sat very still, watching her break out of it, watching the way her strength of will rose up and shattered every self-pitying doubt. She'd had her moment, she'd let the despair swamp her, and now she was lifting from the wreckage, rebuilding.

"I'm fine," she said then, nodding once as if to herself. "I'll be fine. I'll eat lunch, and I'll finish it, and then whatever comes next, I'll do that. It'll be good again."

"It is good," he said then, reaching out across the table now to stroke lightly at her skin, clasp her forearm, his thumb rubbing up and down the smooth knot of her bone. "It's already good, Kate."

She lifted her eyes to his and there was nothing but determination in them. All that sad gratitude had burned away under the force of her resolve.

He grinned back, releasing her arm to settle his elbows on the table and pick up his sandwich once more. "Eat your lunch, Kate."

She sat up straighter and took her own sandwich, a self-satisfied slant to her lips now. Outside of their bed, it was the first time he'd seen her look so confident since Russia.

* * *

Kate loved this stupid dog. She really did. It was unacceptable that Sasha's quiet approach, her haunting presence, could shake Kate to her very foundation; she couldn't let it continue. The wolf's silence - her aura - that was exactly what Kate loved so much about her.

She curled her arm around the dog and cuddled her on the couch - if a dog of her size, and of her dignity, could be cuddled. Castle had moved downstairs to mess with something in the basement, and she had a feeling he was pointedly giving her time and space to deal, but she was okay.

She really was. Lunch - or Pre-Lunch as Castle was calling it - had been good, easy enough with a smaller portion, but the walking had really sapped her strength. She was watching stupid reruns of some 90s sitcom about guys and a pizza place, not quite following the plot, and Sasha kept lifting her muzzle to lick softly at Kate's chin, as if reassuring her.

She closed her eyes, giving it up, and let herself drift on the current of laugh track and banter, her body sinking down into the couch. Sasha's fur smelled like peaches under her nose, peaches and dog, and it meant Carrie had given her a bath recently; the shampoo was peach-scented. Sasha licked Kate's knuckles and dropped her head back to the cushion with a whuffling sigh, and Kate cracked open an eyelid to look.

Sasha was watching her, those whiskery eyebrows raised, and Kate couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. The dog's tail swished slowly against the couch, sweeping Kate's knee, so she stroked her fingers between Sasha's ears, over and over, letting the motion hypnotize them both.

"Hey, puppy," she murmured. Sasha's head tilted, listening, and Kate smiled a little wider. "Don't worry. It's not you, not you at all. I'll be fine. I'm gonna be fine."

Sasha stretched her paws and belly-crawled forward, her nose nuzzling right up against Kate's neck, burrowing close, and Kate nuzzled back, grateful for the sense of drowsy contentment that spilled over her.

"Love you too," she whispered, touching her nose to Sasha's, closing her eyes again. She did, she really did, and this jumpiness wouldn't last forever.

She just had to remind herself this was Sasha, this was her puppy, and ignore the dark memories that flashed without warning behind her eyelids.

* * *

Castle followed Carrie's instructions to the letter, including fruit and nuts with the lean half sandwich he made for Kate's lunch. His wife had fallen asleep on the Ugly Couch, laid out with Sasha, and when he was done, he came into the living room and squatted down beside her.

Her lips were parted, her soft exhales stirred the fur on Sasha's back. The dog was awake, and gave Castle a cautious nudge of her nose, and he rubbed between her ears for a moment before tugging on her collar.

"Go on," he murmured. "Time to eat, Sash."

The wolf squirmed out from under Kate's embrace, gave a great big yawn, and then jumped down to lope towards the kitchen. Castle watched her go and then turned back to Kate.

Her eyes were open now; she blinked slowly and her hand uncurled to brush her fingers at his chin.

"Ready for lunch?" he asked, dropping a quick kiss to the pad of her thumb. She smiled, vivid and bright, and her eyes slipped closed again, a faint hum in her chest. He chuckled and leaned in over her, stroked his fingers through her hair before kissing her temple. "Kate. Wake up, love."

"I'm awake," she breathed out.

"Good dream?"

"This a dream?" she queried, opening her eyes again.

He laughed and shook his head, eased his arm under her neck to sit her up.

"I can do it," she huffed a little, struggling out of his grip. "Did you say lunch?"

"Yeah. You hungry?"

"No," she sighed. "The appetite stimulant - when did Carrie say to take that?"

"We'll start it tomorrow," he answered. "In the morning. Along with a few of the supplements in a smoothie. You ready to get up?"

"Yeah, guess so," she said then, putting her feet to the floor and standing. She didn't sway, didn't even pause, just headed straight for the kitchen. He followed right at her back but she didn't need him; she looked sure of her steps.

"I can make us soup tomorrow," he said when she paused at the counter. "Tomato or - uh, well, anything. I'll look up a recipe online. I can make it."

She turned around, pressed her palm to his back with a soft look on her face. He waited, uncertain if she wanted to eat the half sandwich and the fruit - he could make her something else. Maybe she wanted soup now, and he should've-

"It's fine; it's good. It's very sweet," she said, her hand curling at his shoulder. She came up on her toes and kissed his cheek, pressed in close and warm. He couldn't help but slide his arm around her waist and keep her there.

"Sandwich. Fruit. Cashews. Anything else you want?" he murmured.

Kate laughed against his shoulder and shook her head; when she pulled back, she was biting her bottom lip, looking suddenly soft and adorable. And Kate Beckett was so rarely soft or adorable that it made him want to do stupid things, things she'd hate, things she'd get so mad at him for.

"Stop looking at me like that," she huffed, proving him right. "Castle. Come on. Let's eat. You made enough for yourself, right?"

"I made - I... have something different." He winced and looked away but she was laughing, tugging out of his embrace.

"Good. I'd feel bad if you tried to restrict yourself to this. What'd you make?"

"Chicken and some stuff. I'm trying to get back on the regimen-"

"Castle," she exclaimed. "Why would you-"

"Not that," he sighed, nudging her back towards her meal. "Not like that. The diet and training. Not the suspect injections. I don't even have those, remember? But the rest of it is good and it works for me. It'll get me back up to speed."

She gave him a glare, but she'd already gathered her plate from the counter. He knew she thought it too militaristic, too restrictive, but it had pushed him through some terrible places; his supreme _fitness_ had made going after her in Russia possible at all. He needed to get that back.

"Want to watch some tv? I was thinking we could catch up on that sci-fi show. With the aliens," he said smoothly, trying to change the subject.

"Sure," she answered. "But we're talking about the regimen later."

"Fine, fine. Go set up the show. I'll get you something to drink?"

"Wine?"

He watched her until she sighed, and then she made a face at him, sticking her tongue out as she headed for the living room. He grinned to himself and moved to get her a glass of milk.

Carrie's idea. Kate was going to really hate it.

* * *

It was the milk that did it. She hadn't meant to fall asleep again, but the sandwich was light, the fruit filling, and the cashews just enough salt to make her thirsty. So when she drank the last of the milk, the lethargy that settled over her was so alluring, so heavy, that she sank into the couch and disappeared.

For a long time.

She woke when he gathered her against his chest and carried her upstairs, but her limbs felt bound and her head weighed down and she didn't even think of resistance. She curled into the cool sheets of their bed and felt the blanket pulled up to her neck, the stroke of his palm down her arm, anchoring her to dreams.

There was a wolf. His lips pulled back over teeth like a shark but he was shot and his body froze in the cold, petrified wolf, hard as a rock, crystal and glass and the eye shining as he stared at her from his prison. She tried to ignore him but he began to melt in the sun, blood dripping down like wax over the facets of his crystal skull.

He melted to nothing. A clump of gristle and bone, the remnants of fur just a taste in her mouth.

She turned her face to the sunlight and closed her eyes, let the heat melt her too, exhaustion pooling out and running into rest. She could rest.

When she woke, Castle wasn't there, the bed was warm with Sasha, and Kate felt ready. She'd slept all day, all night, and now she was rising with the dawn.

* * *

That morning, Castle glanced up from the kitchen counter to see Kate walking through the doorway, the dog at her heels. She looked well-rested for once, her eyes no longer so flat. She came to his side but stood apart from him, not leaning against his shoulder, not holding on to his elbow. First time in a long time.

"Hey there," he said, injecting some levity into his voice. He wanted really badly to touch her but his hands were stuck in a bowl of flour and butter and weren't going to be clean any time soon.

"You didn't go in to work?" she murmured.

His shoulders hunched. "Not today, Kate."

She seemed to let it go, merely tilted her head to look at the ingredients spread over the counter, the pages of recipes and notes and instructions littered with flour and splashed with cooking wine or tomato sauce. "What have you been doing?"

"Making stuff," he shrugged. His fingers were starting to get cold in the batter.

She reached out for a recipe and he had to fight the urge to snatch it back from her, protect it somehow. Protect himself. She read silently and then gathered another page, read that as well, one after another, taking each page and smoothing it out, her lips half-forming the words as she absorbed it all.

"Making _me_ stuff," she said finally.

"Enough for both of us," he amended.

"Ah."

"According to Carrie's plan," he murmured. She laid the pages back on the counter, this time in a neat stack, not the mess he'd made of things as he'd started four or five at once. He was trying not to read judgment into her silence, but she was so very silent.

"How long have I been asleep?" she said then.

He glanced to the oven timer, but he didn't really need it. He knew. "Almost fifteen hours."

"Fifteen hours," she sighed. "Did you eat dinner last night?"

He shot her a lopsided grin. "Making it, sweetheart."

"Right now? For breakfast," she laughed, a quirk of her eyebrow that made him relax a little. "Where? Which one, I should say, because, love, it's very sweet, but you've got a pretty big mess going. Did you start _all_ of these?"

"Um. Most of them? I've got three things in the oven and I'm trying to watch the chicken."

She laughed again and slid her fingers over his waist as she moved past him for the stove. She took the fork from the countertop and poked at the chicken browning in the pan, turned each piece for him. "I got the chicken. You do - whatever.. whatever it is you're doing."

"I'll be finished in like ten minutes," he muttered, his hands sinking deeper into the breading.

"Don't hurry on my account," she murmured, but he heard the amusement trickling through her lips. She'd gotten back that well-kept reserve that had always stood her well, made her the tallest person in the room and the most self-assured.

One fifteen hour nap and she'd gotten back her Beckett.

"Kate," he said quickly, snagging her attention with his tone because his hands were hopeless.

She turned towards him with all the poise of her body there in her eyes as well. Morning sun stretched through the windows and painted her with light.

"Kiss me," he said.

She quirked her lips but she came in to brush her mouth over his, soft, electric, filled with promise.

Beckett, indeed.

* * *

Kate found herself actually enjoying the hours she and Castle spent making dinner - even though it was breakfast. Dinners, to be exact. He'd started about five different recipes and had them all going at once, but she took over neatly and managed to keep her mind on the task. Not until she'd safely stowed the last dish in the fridge did she realize how much trouble she'd had lately focusing, how her concentration had been shot.

Castle had taken over breakfast, and the smoothie with all its supplements stood waiting for her, but she wanted to use up a little more of the energy she'd found this morning before she drank it.

He pressed cold fingers to her back and ushered her out of his way; she stepped aside and let him rummage around in the fridge to reorganize the space. He reached back and took the covered casserole dish from the counter and placed it on the bottom shelf and then he stood up with a self-satisfied set to his face.

"We did good," he said.

"We did. Which one was supposed to be your dinner last night?" she said lightly.

His face blanched. "Well."

Kate laughed and bit her bottom lip, but she reached out to him and smoothed her fingers at his forearm. "You can have breakfast with me - first or second breakfast, you pick."

"Both," he laughed softly. "You want me to fix you breakfast now too, don't you?"

"You bet," she grinned. "Now that I know you're so adept."

He sighed and opened the fridge. "Fine. I guess I can make you something. Maybe."

Apparently, being faced with the sight of the mountains of ready-made dinner in their refrigerator made Castle flinch. Like he'd just seen it clearly. She had to admit - it looked a little crazy, a little intense.

"This was stupid," he said softly.

Kate laid her hand on his back as he took the egg carton out of the fridge, scratched at his skin beneath the t-shirt. "Not stupid. It was very sweet. And more than that, Castle, I had fun helping."

He gave her a swift look, terrified and stunned at the same time, and she didn't know why exactly. She wasn't _that_ hard to please, was she? Maybe she was. Maybe she'd been more prickly than she'd realized when he'd only been trying to help.

"Thank you," she insisted quietly, taking the egg carton from his hands and setting it down on top of the counter. Before he could start diving into it, or make any more apologies, she turned around and looped her arms at his waist, rested her cheek against his shoulder. He curled around her, his body slumping as if in relief.

"You're welcome," he said finally, the breath rushing out of him.

* * *

After a lazy day spent catching up on email and doing a light work-out, they heated up the lamb for dinner. He'd tenderized it in vodka and cranberries sometime near eleven the night before, when he'd been working through the panic over her nap-turned-sleep. The meals were the one thing he'd been able to do. And cooking had kept him from hovering at the side of the bed to check and see if she was still breathing.

The food was good; he hadn't expected it to be so enjoyable. Castle wasn't a foodie, and he'd never really paid attention to the banquets at the exorbitant affairs he'd attended as a spy. But he'd made this meal with his own hands because he loved her, and now with Kate at his side enjoying it, somehow there was an element of that effort and care in the taste of the food.

It was really good. He _liked_ it.

Kate's portion was small, just as Carrie had ordered it, and again Kate seemed so much more at ease while she ate, as if mealtime was no longer a battle ground. He hadn't realized he'd been doing that to her, making her feel overwhelmed and entrenched against him. They'd set the table and were eating by candlelight, the flame golden along the walls and across the black stain of the wood. Kate kept nudging her foot into his, sly little looks of her eyes, and he was ruining it by laughing at her; he knew he was. Couldn't help himself.

"We have Dr King tomorrow," he said finally, uncertain how that would go over.

"Yeah, that'll be good. We've been talking on the phone," she said, a note of determination in her voice.

"I want to talk to him as well," he admitted. "If you can spare the time?"

She furrowed her brows, head tilting. "From my session? Of course. Are you okay?"

"I need to ask him about the regimen. Carrie said he knew."

Her mouth dropped open, face white in the candlelight. He had sort of forgotten to mention that part before.

"He knew?"

"No, no. Not like that. I don't think he knew like that. Just like Carrie and Eastman, they never knew the whole story, neither did King. Just pieces."

She dropped both hands to her lap and bowed her head, swallowing hard, and he realized suddenly that the way he'd brought it up made it sound like her therapist was part of this. Part of the evil surrounding his father. And for Kate - that would be unforgivable.

"There's no betrayal going on here, Kate," he said intently. "No negligence. Just good people who did what they could for me."

"It's not enough," she rasped. "To leave you to him."

"I was an adult," he said finally. "I made my own choices. I make them now. To be with you, to have a life."

She lifted her head and glanced through the window; her profile was soft in the flame, shifting. "What about when you were a boy? Five years old, Rick. I..."

"Shit happens," he sighed. Her head snapped back to him, mouth dropping open. He shrugged and gave her a small smile. "You're the one pushing me to reconcile with Martha. Can't start having hang-ups about it now."

"Martha didn't-" But she cut herself off, apparently saw the hypocrisy in blaming only his father for his childhood - just as he'd finally seen the hypocrisy in blaming only his mother. "Okay. I see. And Dr King... he was on your debrief team. So-"

"So he might have only known parts of the whole," he said, trying to soothe the moment over. He hadn't meant to shake her trust in King. She needed him. _Castle_ needed him - couldn't do this without a therapist, not in their line of work.

"Okay. Can you - you should ask about it first. If he knew more... I can't trust him, Castle, if he knew what your father was doing to you."

Castle leaned in over the table, wished it was smaller so he could reach for her hand, grip some part of her and hold her to him, give her an anchor. "I'm sure he didn't know. I'm sure my father told him what he thought he needed to hear and no more."

Kate lifted her head and gave him a fleeting smile. "Yeah, sounds like Black."

He smiled in return, felt his breath filling his lungs again. "Yeah. Exactly."

"We should visit Martha."

Castle groaned and sank back against his chair. "Damn it. I thought I'd steered the conversation clear of that."

She laughed then, a sound both light and choked at the same time. But that she laughed at all was a good sign. It'd be okay.

He was certain Dr King had never had any idea what Black had been doing to him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Close Encounters 11**

* * *

Dr King took one look at them and ushered them right inside his office. He didn't even bother with his usual dry wit, just gestured for them to sit down and folded himself precisely into his own chair. Kate glanced once to Castle and saw the serious thunder pressed into every line of his face, realized that she probably didn't look any less ominous.

"I don't mean to impose on Kate's time," Castle started.

"I can see this is important," Dr King said quickly, cutting into the tension with the gravity he gave his words. "What's happened?"

Castle gave Kate a hesitant look and she nodded to him; they'd hashed it out all night, what it would mean, how it would affect them both. But she had to know; she had to be able to trust King if this was going to continue.

"We want you to tell us what you know about the regimen," Kate said, taking over for him. She sat forward, angling sharply in the chair. Castle seemed stuck, because he said nothing else. "How long you've known."

Dr King gave them both a puzzled glance; he studied her face first and only gave Castle a flicker of his attention.

"I can address your concerns, Kate, if you can give me more information. What is it that we're talking about?"

She searched her memory for an alternate term, but Castle had only ever called it the regimen. "The - plan for him. His father's-"

"Hold on," Dr King said, interrupting her in a manner she'd never seen before. He sat forward as well, his body language clear and attentive. He was doing everything in his power to reassure her, she knew. "This is something to do with Agent Black? And a plan that you believe I know something about."

"Yes," she answered. She had no hesitation in it either; she knew he had information. He might not _know_ he did, but for Black to engage an entire debrief team for Castle at every single mission meant that the pieces were there.

Castle shifted in the chair at her side. "My father has - from the time I first came to him - given me a program to follow which he called the regimen."

"Ah, yes," King said, nodding sagely as he sat back. "Puzzles to increase your IQ, training for various cognitive skills. I had heard rumors of that. From what I remember of the stories, no one really believed you could shape a man into the ideal agent. Most professionals believe you either have the inherent skills and intelligence or you don't - that a personality can be stretched to fit, but not formed to fit a mold. Which I believe you have proved, have you not? Choosing your own way." His smile was genuine but it fell when neither of them smiled back.

"It seems my father was trying to form, not just stretch," Castle said sardonically.

"We're not talking about just his personality or IQ," Kate interrupted. "Injections. Pills. Drugs. Martial arts, _weapons_ training. At five, six years old."

King glanced quickly to her, but his attention zeroed in on Castle. "This is true? Five and six years old?"

"Yes."

"Pills," King murmured. "There was - your father asked me to monitor your anxiety. I was never the one to write the prescription, but you took an anti-anxiety medication, I do know that. I would ask you after each mission-"

"Anxiety levels. Yes, I remember that."

"I assumed that - like most snipers in the field - you took them to calm your heart rate, keep your body's responses under control, time your breathing. Quite a number of our agents and black ops teams use them." King moved his gaze once more to Kate and the lines around his mouth sharpened. "I have the feeling this is not what you're referring to."

Kate ground her teeth together and tried not to give in to the sudden panic that crested up high and tight in the back of her throat. It never ended; it never relented. Black was always-

"Kate," the therapist said calmly. "Kate, please breathe in."

She sucked it in like a reflex, a stuttering jolt of breath, and Castle was gripping her hand now, crunching her bones together in his worry.

"What did Black tell you?" King said.

"Nothing," Castle jumped in. "I've not - and I won't ever - talk to him about this. We had dinner with Carrie Eastman-"

"Mark's wife. Oh yes, she's a good person. Very funny, from what I remember."

"She was the one who confirmed that the regimen included mood stabilizers as well as some things she couldn't identify; Mark had brought them to her and asked her to look into it."

Dr King reached out and took Kate's hand; he had never before touched her, never even a fatherly pat on the back. She stared at him as he squeezed her fingers quickly and then let go.

"I'm sorry for the confusion. And the grief this has brought," King said seriously. "I'll explain my role in Richard's agent status for the last few years and outline what I've known about his condition."

"Condition?" she rasped, lifting her eyes to his face finally.

"Poor word choice," King hastily assured her. "His agent condition. Each agent is given mission status based on a strict set of conditions. His condition has always included a low-dose anti-anxiety drug as well as the debrief team's monitoring."

Her heart rate dropped back to a mild canter and she sat back in her chair, feeling at least like they were getting somewhere.

"I have no awareness of injections or other drugs," King continued, drawing his white legal pad from the top of his desk and clicking his pen. A cheap ballpoint that wasn't at all incongruous somehow. "I'll list the elements of our usual debrief and my role in them, and also as much as I can remember about hints dropped by Agent Black. I'll also - with your permission, Richard - go back through Agent Castle's files and see if anything else comes to mind."

The terrible heaviness that had been sitting on her chest since Castle mentioned King's involvement in the regimen finally began to ease. She realized her hands were trembling even as King began his list; he was taking it seriously. He was doing everything in his power to help them get to the truth.

He wasn't against them; there was no conspiracy.

"Castle stopped taking the injections soon after we - about four years ago," she said then. "If he's been on anti-anxiety meds and he stopped them suddenly - what might that do?"

"Ah, yes. Richard, we'll have to look at that, see if quitting cold turkey has caused side effects. For some medications, a sudden stoppage would be a very bad idea."

Castle's grip on her other hand grew tighter for an instant before he let go. She turned her head to him and he gave her a quick nod as if he could beam strength straight into her cracked, damaged psyche.

And maybe he could; she felt stronger already. King was on their side.

* * *

Castle studied the white page of outlined notes that King had handed over to him. It was a lot of detail, but he had the feeling the man had done it mostly to assure Kate of his pure intentions. True, King was being plenty informative, but he mostly wanted to retain their trust, maintain their relationship for purposes of therapy.

None of this was going to be all that helpful, and if Castle was honest with himself, he didn't _care_ what his father had done. The regimen had made him strong enough to take the shit his father doled out, and if it had also evened out his mood, subdued and tamed the side of him that wanted to settle down and have a real life away from the CIA, well... good.

Because it meant he was here and now with Kate Beckett and whatever road that led him to her was a road he'd take every damn time.

She'd kicked him out of her session twenty minutes ago and King had told him to take a walk, let Beckett come home on her own. Castle knew that meant they were going over her panic attacks, her latent fears, working through those issues - and probably talking about him too.

So he walked. He'd gone back and gotten Sasha from home, clipped the leash on her, and he was letting the dog chase squirrels and chipmunks too stupid to stay out of the dog run at the park. Castle had sat down on a heavy wooden bench under a tree and he held the list in his hands, tried to make sense of the therapist's memories.

First: anti-anxiety meds for the stresses of the job - every mission, whether it held a lethal assignment or not. Out of the norm, King had written beside this point, but not questioned when it came to a seasoned agent with twenty plus years of experience.

Second: every debrief began with a free association review. Castle remembered this, though it hadn't stuck out in his mind as being all that strange. Of course not - what did he know? He'd been doing the regimen his whole life; it all seemed normal.

Free association had seemed odd to King, but he'd assumed it was the way Black ran his unit. He'd done it on at least five other agents assigned to Black - King had held back their names for classified reasons - and the most he could figure was that Black was closely monitoring their 'crack-up potential', as the debrief panel had often called it.

Wasn't too far from the truth, Castle knew. Eastman's first partner had cracked up after a mission in Jakarta, had shot down two friendlies and gone for Mark next. Ten years with the Company and the guy had snapped, just like that. It happened, Castle didn't doubt it, and there'd be no reason for King to wonder about Black being extra concerned over his agents mental states.

Honestly, even Castle didn't find it strange. Free association was considered rather Freudian and not really in vogue anymore - or so King's note said - but it wasn't indicative of any kind of alternate experimenting going on.

The remainder of King's list wasn't anything Castle didn't recall himself. The written log with fact-checking done by a third party support staffer and the exhaustive hours spent dredging up every single insignificant detail were du jour for a debrief.

What King hadn't mentioned were the stamina and endurance tests Castle had always performed after the debrief with the shrinks. Running on a treadmill attached to a heart monitor, firearms with vision impairments, obstacle courses, always some random skill set he'd not had to use recently (from lockpicking to bypassing an encrypted laptop). And once that was over with, Black had handed him a clear plastic case with all his meds.

And for the last five years, Castle had injected himself with the solution - whatever it was - once he'd gotten home rather than staying there. The shots had always made him so damn tired and he'd hated sleeping at the debrief station - always some random farm or house in suburbia. So he'd finally convinced his father to let him do it himself, sleep it off at the safe apartment in the city. It was the only reason why he'd even _had_ the apartment in New York in the first place.

And his father had installed cameras inside it. Castle had used them himself to watch over Kate while he had been faking his own death. Had he even _asked_ Black why? Why there were extensive cameras and audio with full access from the CIA office?

Damn it. He was a walking experiment. And he'd docilely swallowed the whole thing.

But then Kate...

Castle hadn't thought to take the shots; he'd gone home to Kate and he'd ignored the plastic case of meds, often spending so much time in bed with her 'catching up' that by the time he'd remembered the meds, it'd been too late.

Always within 12 hours of the training. Always. He was never supposed to take the injections if the twelve hours had lapsed. He remembered once he had put a case in his freezer, thinking he'd come back for it and try it, just to keep off his father's radar. But he never had gone back.

With Kate... he hadn't had the time_._ He would open up the plastic case and check the time and he'd throw it out. He'd take the pills usually - vitamins and supplements and whatever else they were - but he'd been off the shots for years now.

Years. But the pills themselves - only since his father's 'retirement' from the CIA had Castle stopped taking them, whatever those were. And when he'd been placed in charge of the division, he hadn't given the regimen a second thought. There'd been no protocol for it in the system and he'd been too busy to stop and question it.

But back in Germany when he'd nearly lost his leg... what had his father done to him then? More injections, a whole infusion of whatever miracle drug this was? Because he had to admit - the idea that he'd been so close to death and then he'd woken up and walked out of the hospital, traveled hundreds of miles to Russia, backpacked across the steppe, and _then_ had dragged her out of there... it seemed impossible.

The fire in Copenhagen. She'd had raw skin on her back for weeks, but he'd maybe gotten a little pink on his knuckles. Of course, she'd been inside that room upstairs, barely hanging on, and he'd never questioned that she'd gotten the worst of it. But as he thought about it, when he'd gone to blow up the shipping containers - he'd been captured because he'd been too close and gotten stunned by the explosion.

He should've been more damaged than he'd been.

What other times? With Eastman once, a knife wound that had healed quickly enough to surprise his old partner but had allowed them the chance to escape. The souk in Marrakesh, the night flight over the Chanel, even when Coonan had stabbed him in the side, aiming for a fatal wound but only putting Castle down for six weeks.

His whole life - touched by luck or the damn regimen?

Well, one thing was clear now. Whatever the pills and injections had been for, King had never been on that side of things. Black had arranged his division exactly as he'd wanted, skirting the law as he'd seen fit, bending the rules when it had suited him - experimenting on his own child.

But what did it matter now? Castle wouldn't unthinkingly follow anyone's regimen any more. Never again.

He had chosen his own path and it didn't fit the life his father had carved out for him; he was his own man.

He'd chosen Kate.

If the regimen had made him the _super_ spy that she liked to call him, well, that was fine. And if he never had it again, he wasn't worried. He wanted nothing to do with his father.

* * *

"Is this about the subject we're discussing, or is this because of your concerns over my involvement with Agent Black?"

Kate shook her head tightly, forced herself to unfold her legs in the chair. "No. I'm - I trust you." And she did. There'd been too much over the last few years to not.

"Would you like to tell me about the dream?" King asked patiently. Again.

Kate lifted her hand from the arm of the chair where she'd been stroking the material absently with two fingers. "You do that? Dreams. Like tell me what it means."

"No. I think a dream just shows what's on your mind. Did you want me to give you a gestalt interpretation?"

Kate felt the smile slide across her lips in acknowledgement. "The dream doesn't really have anything to do with the rest of this."

"That's fine."

She sighed at him, gave a quirk of her eyebrow, but King only smiled back, supremely unruffled. She tried to hold on to that feeling, the levity and contentment she'd somehow found after an hour's conversation about handling her panic attacks, because the dream still haunted.

"We're back in Russia," she admitted. "I'm so grateful I'm not alone that I don't realize at first."

"Someone else is there?"

"I meant - well yes. Castle and I are in the cave, a cave, but then there are wolves."

King nodded shortly; he'd heard this on the phone when she'd had to call him in Rome. He'd heard it again when they'd first gotten back to the States. He knew her thing, the way the wolf was both savior and demon. She'd worked on that; he'd been helpful already.

"And then?" he prompted.

"And then I can't move; I'm too tired, sick. I'm lying there and the whole pack comes for me but Castle..."

King took up where Kate left off. "He intercepts them? As he would, naturally."

She nodded again. "I wake up to screaming. It's not me screaming, just the dream, but my heart is pounding and I'm sweating and I can't go back to sleep because I know it's still there. Waiting."

"You managed to give me quite a lot of information, Kate, but you entirely glossed over what happens to Richard in the dream."

She shot him a look and he raised an eyebrow - her move, that eyebrow, and it wasn't funny but it was a little. It made her roll her eyes back at him and search for words to voice the terror.

"He - the wolves are - on him. They're all over him. He's the one - it's his screaming I wake to."

"I see. And?"

She gritted her teeth and gave up the last of it. "I see them. Tear - tear into him. Teeth sinking into his thigh and ripping-" She choked and rubbed hard at her eyes.

"I see," King said, softer now. Sympathetic. "You've always struggled with the ways Richard will put himself into danger for you, his self-sacrificing. But it's more than that this time."

She nodded and dropped her hands. "He's - always going to put himself in front of the wolves for me," she said. It still tasted funny in her mouth, that truth, but after his father had tried to murder her in an alley and Castle had nearly killed him for it, their therapy sessions had centered around this point again and again. It always came back to that. At least now she felt equal to it, even if she didn't like the reality.

And well - she'd throw herself to the wolves if it meant saving him. She couldn't tell him that he wasn't allowed to feel the same.

"But the wolves, in this case, are more than just a threat to your physical life," King added.

"Are we deciding on a gestalt interpretation after all?"

He smiled at her, nodded to indicate she'd scored a hit. "So if it's not just about your physical life, what is it about?"

She sighed and leaned her head back into the chair, exposing her throat, closing her eyes, letting herself drift for a moment. The dream came back to her, the firelight - though they'd had no fire - the eyes blinking on, red in the back of the cave's darkness. The snarl of muzzle, the flash of teeth, the lunging beast-bodies-

Kate gasped and jerked upright, eyes open to the fierce morning light and the advent of noon. She searched the room wildly, closed her eyes to dispel the sensation of falling and fleeing both, and ran her hand through her hair, swallowed.

"These could be manifestations of your panic attacks," King said quietly, firmly.

It wasn't a question; it was a suggestion. She nodded quickly. "Yes."

"Would you like to answer my question now?"

"I... what was the question?" she stalled.

"If not your physical life in danger - then what life? Those wolves don't get you, they get Richard."

She nodded. "Not me. Him."

"Didn't you tell me that his injury out there was nearly lethal? Shrapnel in his leg. You triaged him in the field and sent him off with..." King waited like Kate was supposed to fill that in.

"With... Black," she gave.

"Is he a wolf?"

She grunted and cocked her head. "Well. Yes."

"So."

"So I feel damn responsible. Fine. Yes."

He steepled his fingers and touched his thumbs to his mouth, waiting on her, watching her.

"I left him to the wolves," she murmured, letting that sink in. The sick sensation in her guts told her it was true, but King was looking at her with a little exasperation.

He sat forward. "Only that turned out to be a perfectly rational, justifiable decision. Wouldn't you say?"

"Yes," she said, felt that flush of defensiveness in her tone. "I saved his life. I had to."

"You sound as if you've made that defense often."

She shut her mouth and turned her head to the window.

"Richard has held it against you?" he questioned.

She sighed and closed her eyes. "Not anymore."

"You hope."

"I know," she insisted.

"Do you though?" he said quietly. "I have no doubt he has. But do you really believe you're forgiven?"

Well, shit, of course not. She was having lucid nightmares where Castle was eaten alive in front of her by the wolves she'd left him to.

"How do I get there?" she asked. "I'm tired of freaking out every time my dog licks my face. I don't want to be flinching when she _yawns_."

"We can get there," he said, earnest and smiling. "We can get you there. Tell me about it - Richard being wounded. We'll start there."

* * *

Castle checked the time on his phone and sighed. Three hours. Pretty long session.

Or.

He gritted his teeth and began putting away the pre-lunch sandwich he'd made for her, placed it in tupperware and shelved it in the fridge. He saw the host of containers they'd made, meal after meal from recipes that Carrie had suggested, and he couldn't help but worry.

Kate would be so mad at him for backsliding though, for giving in to the irrational fear that her life was in peril every time he couldn't physically see her. They'd worked on that in Rome and he really had thought he'd gotten a handle on it.

He wondered if it was okay to text her therapist and ask if their session was over?

Hm. Probably not. Well, he wasn't a conventional kind of guy and neither was their relationship. So screw it. He was texting King.

He hit send and tossed his phone onto the kitchen counter, ignored the wild gallop of his heart, and set about putting away the rest of the stuff. Bread, deli meat, cheese, the bowl of mixed fruit because - despite what Carrie had said - Castle had still thought maybe he could tempt Kate to eat a little more. Shit. He had to stop that.

She could feed herself. She could damn well go to therapy without him hovering. He needed to get a grip-

His phone vibrated with a text and Castle snatched it up.

Session was over, King informed him.

So where was she?

He wasn't above tracking her phone. They both had GPS apps; it'd been one of those concessions they'd made together in therapy _last_ time and he wasn't so stupid as to think he was immune to panic when it came to not knowing.

He wasn't immune at all.

So he called up the app on his phone and signed in, his heart like a taste in his mouth, thick and anxious. When the compass swung around and then the menu popped up, he chose her device, waited interminably for the map to load, the little green pinpoint to show up.

He breathed when it appeared, stationary, somewhere near Central Park. Castle zoomed in on the map and studied it, tried to figure out why there, why that building, and he knew it wasn't enough just to see a dot on a screen.

He needed to see _her_.

Even if she was mad at him for tracking her down.

* * *

He got off the subway at the right stop, climbed the stairs with the crowd. Castle checked the phone once more to be sure, the directions he'd called up that would lead him to her, and he turned left once he was out on the street.

The walk was familiar, and he couldn't figure out why.

That never happened to him; he always knew. He always remembered, always had that stored file in his head of every place he'd been to, and doubly so with Kate.

But the streets were tantalizing, the sights like deja vu.

(He'd had trouble remembering lately, he realized. Trouble being as fast as he usually was with an answer or the precise knowledge. It was all still there, but harder to access. He didn't want to think too long about why that was happening to him now.)

When he finally got close enough to figure out where she was, Castle jerked to a halt on the sidewalk. Unease rippled through his guts as he saw the building ahead of him and the solid glass front display window. A former department store now leased by a pet rescue.

_Their_ pet rescue. Where he'd gotten Sasha.

Castle jogged to the front door and yanked it open, pushed inside without scoping the space. He'd been subtly afraid that someone had done something to her, taken her from him, hurt her, but she'd done it to herself.

The front lobby held a minimalist desk with a man working on a computer, and behind him, Castle could see a closed door.

"Can I help you?"

He paused just inside, his hand around his phone, and scraped out an answer. "I - my wife is here. Kate."

"Ah, Mrs Rodgers? She's in the back. Follow me."

She gave her name as Mrs Rodgers? Oh, well, that had been the name he'd used to adopt Sasha, so maybe that was why.

The man pulled a metal key ring from a drawer and turned around to unlock the lone, white door. "Through here. She told me that you guys adopted one of our rescues."

"Wolf-dog, yes," he said absently, chafing behind the man's slow walk down the hall. It wasn't the cage and concrete of the Humane Society, but even through the nicely appointed rooms and industrial carpeting, faintly he could hear the dogs.

"Are you thinking about adopting a second?"

"No," he said, startled, glancing to the guy as he strolled down the hall and came to a door on the left. "Did she say we were?"

"Oh, no, no. She just wanted to volunteer in the rough room."

"The - the what?"

The man gave a sheepish grin and shook his head. "Our name for it. The room where we let the big dogs loose to play. It gets - kinda rough. We like to have as many volunteers as we can, but this afternoon it's just your wife and our Volunteer Coordinator, Debbie."

Two women were alone in that room with a bunch of bigger _rough_ dogs?

The man opened the door and ushered him inside a kind of airlock; the door opposite them was dutch, the bottom half closed while the top was open. Castle pushed ahead of the guy and peered inside, searching for his wife.

Kate was backed into a corner, her hands out in supplication while a German shepherd with ears as pointed and large as a wolf's came for her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Close Encounters 11**

* * *

Beckett gasped and then laughed as Toby jumped her; she just managed to catch his paws so he wouldn't claw her shirt, felt his joyous licks across her neck and chin even as she tilted her head back. Debbie was across the room and yelling at Toby to _be a good boy_, but it was fine.

It was fine.

She was fine.

Mostly.

"Kate."

She jerked and saw Castle striding into the rough room with Max behind him, the older man who had taken her information and allowed her to volunteer this afternoon. She'd been so grateful that Castle had done everything right when he'd adopted Sasha; she'd been allowed to come straight back since they'd already been vetted.

"Rick," she said, giving him some of the smile that had only lately found her lips.

"Are you - what are you doing?" he hissed, coming close. He looked like he wanted to grab her, but the dog was between them.

"I'm playing with Toby," she said artlessly.

He narrowed his eyes. "Do you think this is such a good idea? You're shaking."

She was not. Oh, wait, she was. She gritted her teeth and pushed Toby off of her, but the dog threaded through her legs and butted against her, seeking more. And yeah, okay, fine. Faint unease pitted in her stomach, a cramping like she was going to throw up, but that was only because so much of her time on the Russian steppe was spent vomiting while a wolf slinked after her.

Just association. Not fear.

"Immersion therapy," she said boldly and sank to her knees to allow Toby to get at her face.

She flinched when his maw came towards her, but she stood her ground and let him lick, his whole body wriggling in pleasure. Castle kneeled down at her side and one of his hands absently came to the dog's back, rubbing through the fur as he studied her.

"This was King's idea?" he muttered.

"Well. No," she admitted. "My idea."

"What the _hell_?" he growled at her.

Toby growled back and his hackles raised. Castle took his hand off the dog and gave it a sardonic twist of his eyebrow.

From across the room, Debbie called out to them. "Everything okay? I heard Toby growl. I told you, Kate, he doesn't like men so much."

Castle huffed and backed off, settling now about six inches away from her as he shook his head. "This was your idea."

"And it's working. When I first got here, I thought I was going to puke."

He flinched this time, his eyes not meeting hers, but she reached out and took his hand. Toby laid down at her other side, his gaze watchful, but then he picked up his head and she saw another dog coming. This one the pitbull.

"Kate," Castle warned.

"I see him. That's Townsend. He's still a puppy so-"

At that moment, the dog plowed straight into her, half-jumping and bouncing around, rough and energetic. She heard Castle grunt and saw a third dog had joined them, this one a lab mix with her designs on Castle, the three furry bodies wriggling around each other for their attention.

"I can't believe you're doing this," Castle muttered at her, but he was scratching his fingers through the pitbull's short hair.

She'd heard of dogs being used for therapy, usually the calm and good-natured ones, but she'd wanted to get in and get over it. Stop flinching when she saw Sasha coming for her, stop waking panicked when the dog's nose touched her elbow to go outside.

She'd been home a week, and before that she'd had six days in Rome with Castle to get over her hang-ups.

It just wasn't acceptable.

"Kate," he said sharply and she realized she was hanging on to Toby too tightly, that the dog was whining as her fingers circled his collar. She let go and sucked in a deeper breath.

He was watching her, studying her; this was why she'd wanted to come alone. Just get it done; do the work.

"Kate, did you tell them that you're - in therapy? Did you warn _them_?" he said quietly.

Her mouth dropped open.

"Don't do it again," he said in a low voice, barely heard over the whine and bark of dogs in the room. "Not without me at least."

She stroked the fur back from Toby's face, his narrow snout and his too-knowing eyes so hauntingly familiar. Wolf had been colored just like this, the flash of black across his back and rump, the tail spotted white, the black around his eyes. Sasha was mostly white and soft brown that shaded to black along her ruff, a completely different-looking dog.

But so much the same.

"You're right," she said finally. "I should've thought of that."

"Did you eat lunch?"

She frowned. "No."

He didn't remark, didn't express his displeasure this time. Maybe Castle was learning as well, figuring out how to handle her.

She didn't want to be handled.

"Kate," he sighed, a soft thing that made her eyes close. She didn't want to be pitied either, coddled by the solid wall of him as he shut it all out. A castle in life as well as in name, even as she was besieged on all sides.

She didn't want to shut it out; she shouldn't feel besieged. This was life - her life, that she'd chosen - and this craven terror that stole over her? No. It wasn't her. She didn't want it; she didn't choose it. It was the memory of a wolf; it was a moment in an alley with a gun to her head and feeling the bullet even though it had never come; it was watching his empty casket being lowered into a grave - and none of it was real.

So she refused to let it mangle her anymore.

She wanted to be that woman he'd met four years ago who'd done her job and stood alone in the midst of the storm while Castle did his job overseas, did what he needed to do without worrying about her. The woman who had gone out to LA on her own and hunted down the cold-blooded bastard who had murdered her training officer and come back to tell him the story.

Not this one. Weak, tainted. Made miserable by their separation, driven to clutch at him in the darkness just in case.

"God, Kate," he said suddenly and she felt his fingers scrape the hair back from her face. "You are so damn strong. Inviolate. I don't know how you do it."

Her eyes shot open. His thumb smoothed her cheekbone. His gaze was adoring even as it was filled with such abject sorrow. He looked like he wanted to surround her, block her view of the room and the dogs, but she didn't want that.

Not anymore.

Not when it made them both so wretched.

"Inviolate?" she murmured, her eyes tracing the lines in his face, the fear and the need and the desire to subjugate, bend her to his will because he thought he could protect her. She'd never be okay with that.

"Fierce," he croaked. "The way you're looking at me right now."

"Then you be strong with me," she said suddenly, her throat tightening. "Be _brave_. I need you."

He looked scared, suddenly. Like a boy, his eyes unshuttered. "Be brave? I - I can do that."

She reached up to his hand at her cheek and drew it away, down, but she squeezed his fingers as she did. "I have thirty more minutes. You going to play with me?"

And now he smiled, faint though it was, now the ease seemed to settle in his shoulders. "Of course. I can do that too."

She really hoped he could. She needed him to be able to do it too.

* * *

The next day Castle still didn't go in to the Office, but she figured he wanted to take being brave slowly. She met him downtown after his therapy session with King, and they had lunch - her second lunch - at the Mexican place he loved, a hole in the wall with no health inspection mounted whatsoever.

Kate made a trip back to the unisex bathroom to wash her hands and when she came back to the table, Castle had already ordered. The orange Jarritas sodas were sweating at their places, so she sank down to her seat and took a pull from the bottle, swallowing the fizzy liquid even as it burned, bubbling, down her throat.

"You look good," Castle said suddenly.

She shot him a glance, confused, but he was blushing and ducking his head. "Castle," she laughed softly, reaching out to circle her fingers around his wrist. "What was that?"

"I thought you'd be - I don't know. You've seemed..."

"Brittle," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "I'm tired of it. Before this damn mission in Russia, I was kind of kick-ass. Don't know if you remember that."

He laughed, a choked thing, but it brought his eyes up to see her. "Yeah, love, I remember. Still think you're kick-ass."

She smiled back. "It's messed with my head, Castle, but I'm straightening it out."

"I don't think it's just been the wolf, the cave. Do you?"

"King tell you that?" she asked, not really asking. She shrugged off her own question and shook her head. "You're right. I think a lot of shit is getting churned up and I'm not sure how much I really dealt with it before."

"I know you hate therapy," he said softly.

"I know you love it," she shot back, but she found a smile for him, gave it up easily. "I think you're just built differently from me, Rick. I hang on to stuff and you've somehow figured out how to let it go."

He winced. "Yeah, actually, King was getting on to me for that. Not being bothered by anything."

"What?" she laughed. "No. It's a gift; ignore him - whatever he's saying to you about it. I used to compartmentalize this stuff and never go back to it, but all those compartments are falling apart. If you can still do it - more power to you."

Castle narrowed his eyes at her but he gave in to a short laugh as well. "He said I spent too long letting it ride, not caring, being - uh - an automaton."

"Hadn't we already figured that out, super spy?" she said, giving him a softer smile and a tilt of her head to let him know she loved him anyway. "The CIA's machine."

"He - well - he said emotionally. Not just the work and the hard body and the regimen."

Kate sighed, rubbed her thumb over the pulse pounding in his wrist. "Rick. Love. That's always what I meant. Physically, but. Emotionally too. Nothing seemed to touch you."

He stared at her. "Oh."

"This is a revelation for you?" she murmured, lifting her eyes to his, stroking his wrist, trying to keep him with her in her good mood.

"I'm an emotional robot?"

"Oh, that's the furthest thing from true," she said quickly. "You might not have let the work touch you before - the emotional aspects slid right off you - but you have such a big heart, Castle. I think you've _had_ to be emotionally closed down, just to survive this kind of job. But with me, with the people you love - it's not at all the same."

He was frowning at the table, lines carved deep into his face, and when she opened her mouth to try to explain it again, explain it better - so that he knew - the waiter interrupted by bringing over their plates.

She leaned back in her seat and allowed the man to place her food in front of her; it looked like Castle had ordered her a kind of taco salad, in accordance with Carrie's rules of course. She pressed her lips together and smiled at him, the two of them alone again, as Castle picked up his fork to dig in.

He had one of the lunch specials: two burritos, refried beans, a handful of salsa to season his steak strips. It was a huge amount of food, but that was so Castle. She was actually surprised he'd managed to restrain himself when it came to her meal.

"Hey. Rick?" She nudged his knee under the table with her own, waiting for him to give her his attention once more. When he glanced her way, she tried smiling at him. "Why do you think you want kids so much?"

His face blanked. "I - is this - are we re-deciding?"

She shook her head, felt the smile lifting her lips now, firmer. More certain. "No. I'm trying to prove a point. It was a little rhetorical. Because you're not emotionally a robot when it comes to this. I can see it in you - how much you want a family. It's kind of cliche, I know, but you have so much love to give."

He huffed out a breath that broke the tension on his face, made him soften as he shook his head. "It is cliche. But - uh - thank you?"

She shrugged at him. "Don't judge me. I suck at the words. You know that."

"I certainly do," he laughed. He was smiling and looking at her over his fork, an eyebrow raised, his eyes lighter than she'd seen in a while. And why? Just because they were eating lunch together - or rather, Second Lunch - or was it because she was talking about them having kids?

"You write me any letters, lately?" she murmured, going for coy but it was probably ruined by her mouthful of taco salad. His lips twitched in a smile but he took a bite of his meal instead, merely watching her. She swallowed and narrowed her eyes at him. "What?"

"You're kind of adorable."

She snorted.

"You are. You're passionate too, you know? For me, in my defense. I've never had anyone stand up for me like you do. You're going to be a great mom."

Kate's mouth dropped open and she sat back in her chair, surprised again. Because they talked - they did now anyway - but they didn't often _gush_ about each other.

He did in those letters though, didn't he? And what had she ever done in return? She'd warned him that her words were inadequate, but she should try them more often. She ought to let him know.

"Castle," she got out, chewing on the inside of her bottom lip. "You're going to be so - so good at this. I can't wait - can't wait to hold our son, to put him in his daddy's arms. However, whenever that happens. I know you'll do anything for him; you'll adore him."

He stared at her, everything swimming up in his eyes, and she couldn't believe he could ever possibly think of himself as a machine. Not anymore. Never again.

"You make me brave," he rasped then, his head bowing before his eyes met hers again. "You're the one who makes me brave even when you scare me to death."

* * *

The next few days were busy with catching up and heading for therapies and getting their life back together, resuming normal. Castle dropped her off downtown for a doctor's appointment, kissing her cheek softly because he still couldn't quite believe she'd almost literally thrown herself to the wolves not three days ago. Made him restless to blow something up or at least walk her back home and lock them both in the panic room for a week.

But wasn't that exactly what she'd been talking about? She'd been asking him to man up, grow a pair, be courageous enough to do this with her rather than doing everything for her.

So he let her walk away from him, her hair gleaming in the sunlight and the sharp profile of her chin and elbows and ribs against the doors. She slipped inside the office building and Castle let out a breath, decided there was no time like the present.

He needed to go back to the Office.

His father was still in North Africa, just off the coast of Tunisia at an island listening station, being held somewhat against his will. The keeper of the station had gotten in contact with Castle twice in Rome, but over the past week, he'd been silent.

Castle had included a mute referendum on the detainment orders, meaning the keeper wasn't supposed to talk to his guest, but a whole week without the North African agent pestering Castle for further orders seemed ominous. Black could talk his way out of anything.

He strode purposefully towards the subway station, pulling out his phone once more. He logged into the network with his passcode and started checking up on details of the Eastern Europe operations still in progress. Looked like Mitchell had been taking over quite a lot, Malone had pulled all-nighters four or five times, and Mason was going crazy on the ground in Paris. Castle felt a sharp tug of shaming responsibility in his guts.

This was his job; he was supposed to have more care for the agents under him.

Beckett had been fierce about them staying at the CIA, though with modifications, and he knew that this was what he loved, what fueled him in so many ways. This was his purpose in life. It'd taken some therapy to figure it out, to be able to be honest about that, but the CIA felt grander and nobler for all the ways it saved the world - especially with Beckett at his side.

He could do the machinations, the political maneuverings, the cutthroat and devious ways they had to do their job, but those weren't the things he loved about it. It was being at home in a foreign country and blending with the natives, working a mission so skillfully that the enemy never even knew he'd been there. It was jumping out of planes and going deep undercover and lying to save his own ass and flashing money in a hotel for information - and then thwarting some plot that would have hurt so many innocent people.

His sense of ethics had only and ever centered around stopping the enemy, but Kate had been the one to show him there had to be more than that: there was a war going on, but it wasn't between countries. It was - at its base, simplest form - a war between good and evil.

And sometimes the CIA itself was that evil.

That was what called to him now, and he knew to Beckett as well. To eradicate that evil from their midst, to make it easier for those around them to choose what was _right_.

And it was time he took up arms once more and joined the battle.

* * *

When Kate stepped out of the elevator, feeling like little more than a science experiment after her doctor's visit, she was stunned to find the lobby completely devoid of Castle. She hesitated, wondering if maybe he'd gone to the bathroom, but after a minute or so, she realized he wasn't there.

And the sidewalk, though teeming with pedestrians and foot traffic, was equally empty of her husband.

He hadn't come to pick her up.

Kate grinned slowly and fished her phone out of her pocket, her heart beating a little fast but not too bad. She couldn't entirely ignore the crowd, but concentrating on her phone rather than what might lurk at her back was easier than she expected.

She called Castle as she walked towards the subway station, the whole day suddenly wide open and free in front of her.

And for once, she wasn't wary of it.

"Hey, love," he answered clearly, like he stood right beside her. He must be underground, at the New York Office; it always had the best cell reception. "You done?"

"Yes," she hummed, taking longer strides even though her muscles burned. "Mostly bloodwork, checking my levels. He said call in a week to find out."

"Anything more on the physical therapist?"

"Not yet," she sighed. But the sun was out and it was warm for spring; she turned her face to the heat and stopped at the crosswalk, waiting on the light. "I thought he'd message me, but still nothing."

"That's strange. He's been on the payroll for at least ten years. I guess go ahead and use the PT guy that the doctor was talking about?"

There was a tension in his voice that Kate picked up on, felt it slide down her back. "I'm sure it's nothing. Miscommunication or a family emergency. I'm sure he'll call soon." She didn't want to say that she felt apprehensive over seeing a PT outside the CIA's network; she was sure her doctor was right and the guy he wanted to refer her to was great, but she couldn't do it.

"Hm," Castle muttered.

"I'll call him again. Don't bother with it," she warned him. She could just picture him and his bullying ways, how he'd batter at the guy. She liked this PT; he pushed her hard and made her do the work back at Stone Farm. Maybe he was still there, out of communication. "In the meantime you can keep working me out yourself. We have fun."

She heard his soft laughter and smiled as well.

"All right," Castle said quietly. "I couldn't call him now anyway."

"You're at work," she said; she already knew he was. "In the middle of something?"

"Yeah. I... Yeah."

"That's good," she grinned, knew he could hear it in her voice. At least he was hearing the amusement, the pleasure, and not the frisson of anxiety that stayed curled up at her spine and made her heart beat a little too fast.

She was only a few blocks from the subway station, but suddenly the idea of being underneath all that concrete, in the dubious lighting and crowded confines of the platform made her palms sweat.

"What're you going to do with the rest of the day?" Castle asked.

"I... don't know yet. I was gonna go home, but now I'm - walking." _Avoiding the subway station._

"Oh. Well, good."

Great. This was the most awkward conversation they'd ever had. "Castle, I'm glad you're at the office. I've been getting alerts on my phone from Mason in Paris - I guess he doesn't know he's supposed to take me off the list until King reinstates me for active duty."

Castle grunted. "Mason," he muttered.

"But stuff's going on," she said, trying to steer him away from coming down on Mason too harshly. "I saw the banner about this group - Army of the Great Syria?"

"Beckett," he huffed.

"Pronounce the name for me," she insisted. She couldn't help the curiosity; this was her job as much as it was his, and Russia had - to date - seventeen active terrorist groups working in their borders. Eastern European operations pretty much had centered around the former USSR, and at least Castle wasn't doing it alone. Mason in the Paris station and Mitchell and Malone here with him in the city were his right-hand guys.

"Junj ash-Sham," he muttered over the phone. "But I'm not reading you in on this one, Beckett."

"No problem. I'll just call Mason in Paris and have him give me the details. He likes me. He's a little bit in love with me."

"Shit."

Somehow talking about Russian terrorist groups gave her more energy and confidence than a hundred hours of therapy and PT combined. "Spill, super spy."

"Fine," he hissed over the phone. "Let me get back to my office and I'll call you from there. That's the one damn place I know isn't bugged. You _are_ calling from the secure phone, right? Not your old phone?"

"Castle," she said, indignation seeding her voice.

"Just making sure. Call you back in five."

She grinned to herself even as he ended the call, and she lowered the phone from her ear and found herself actually enjoying the day.

Work. She'd always thrown herself into the work. Why had she thought that she should approach her messed up issues any differently now?

Suddenly she wanted to work out hard on the sparring floor, get body slammed into the mat and come up swinging, brutal and fierce until the sweat burned her eyes and her muscles screamed.

Yeah, she knew exactly where she wanted to be, and what she needed to do to get there.

Beckett turned back around for the subway station and texted a quick message to Castle.

_Getting on the subway, call me in twenty instead._

* * *

She was only to Central Park, about five blocks away, when Castle called her back. She hadn't survived the subway long and had hopped off a few blocks ago to walk the rest of it in the sunshine.

"Okay, at least now I'm not getting dirty looks from Mitchell for telling you shit you're not supposed to know," he said by way of greeting.

"Hello to you too, baby."

"I think you're patronizing me."

"You think?"

"Shut up."

"Tell me about the Army of the Great Syria. Junj ash-Sham." She made a detour into Central Park to give her the white noise of the trees and the solitude she needed for a conversation out in the open. "Stop stalling, Castle."

"You saw Mason's memo?"

"They're getting aid from Kosovo?"

"Yeah. We're doing mostly forensic stuff right now, tracking down the money. Malone is on top of it."

She felt something hazy forming at the edges of her consciousness, something important she was supposed to be remembering. But it had been harder to hold on to details now, after the steppe, though she'd hoped that the change in diet from Carrie would help that.

Maybe she hadn't given it enough time. "Castle, did you guys go through that huge bank in Pristina? Last time they were willing to help us out."

"We did," he said, a little too patient, too placating. She realized she was going over first-run stuff, the initial scratching at a problem that they'd probably done a week ago when it was new.

"Okay, but there's something else," she murmured. She sank down on a bench just inside Central Park, facing 85th Street and putting the Met to her back. She scraped a hand through her hair and closed her eyes in the leaf-dappled light, trying to remember. "Remember last year when we had that quick run in Kosovo?"

"Yeah," Castle said, interest peaking his voice. "It was a milk run. Delivered a chip to a international computer corp. I'm pretty sure they're on the up and up, Beckett. It's not them funneling money."

"Mm, yeah, but not that part. When we got to the hotel, there was a fight outside..." What was it about that fight? She couldn't remember, but the memory was playing behind her eyes over and over again.

"A fight...? Oh, shit. Why didn't I think of that? The Balkan Egyptians. Holy hell, Beckett."

She grinned, felt some of the pieces clicking into place. It was slower to come than it usually was, and she rubbed two fingers at her forehead as if that could hurry things up. Her concentration was just shot today.

Well, no wonder. She'd been obsessing over the bloodwork, her health, all morning - dreading the outcome. And then, of course, therapy scrambled her brain and made her think her physical therapist was part of some conspiracy, and instead of being rational, she let Castle feed her paranoia.

"That help you?" she asked, trying to shake loose her thoughts.

"Hell, yes. Remember? The gun we took off that guy outside the hotel - it was an AK-47 from the gray arms market. We traced it back to the seller."

And then the name came to her. "Viktor Bout. Ties with the GRU. Arms dealer to several terrorist groups." She felt the the whole picture come into place. "And he was extradited to the US only six months ago."

"You got it. Means I can sit down with him for a friendly little chat. Beckett, you're awesome."

She opened her eyes on a smile and stood up from the bench, started making her way back to Fifth Avenue. "I'm just that good," she hummed.

"Baby, you are definitely that good."

Her smile grew wider, her concentration sharper, and the crowd - the dogs, the shouts, the click of bicycle wheels, and the heavy tread of someone not following her - it all faded into the background, where it should be.

"Now that my work here is done," she grinned, "I'm gonna let you go. I'm headed to the 12th."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Time I caught up."

"Tell Esposito we're looking for a few good men."

"I always do," she laughed back.

But yeah, actually. She'd really like Espo on their team. And _then_ she'd make him spar with her in the workout room.


	9. Chapter 9

**Close Encounters 11**

* * *

When the elevator doors opened, Kate felt the tips of fingers itching despite the visitor's badge the desk sergeant had made her clip to her jacket. She stepped off the lift and into the 12th's Homicide Division, took a deep breath of the stale sweat, burned coffee, and grim efficiency that always permeated the floor.

"Beckett."

Her shoulders eased as she caught sight of Ryan first, his hair closely cropped on the sides in a style she couldn't fathom, but his smile wide and bright and boyish. He hung up the phone and came to meet her halfway, his hug as effusive as his grin.

"You came to visit us lowly city workers?" he said, but the smile had dimmed slightly as she pulled back from the hug. Her jacket couldn't hide the worst of it when his hand had been hard at her ribs.

"I did, Ry. Missed you guys. How's Jenny?"

"She's beautiful, funny, everything," he stated baldly, but the grin flashed back. "And I'm whipped."

Kate laughed and felt herself being tugged into the bullpen by Ryan's insistent arm. Esposito rounded the corner then and halted in his tracks when he saw her.

"Damn, Beckett," he whistled, shaking his head. "That CIA agent lock you up in his kinky basement and forget to feed you?"

Kate blanched and Espo's teasing face dropped into furious concern, his body lithe and panther-like as he came for her, eyes flaring.

"Beckett," he hissed, and she tried to withstand the awful grief that flared in her at the compassion in his voice. Her boys weren't supposed to do that to her; it was supposed to be that sharp gallows humor that made her able to laugh. "Beckett, what the hell happened to you?"

The boys had flanked her, closed ranks around her, the three of them huddled at Ryan's desk because it was back against the wall now. She gave them her real smile, the one she had pulled out from this morning's walk through the city and Castle's agreement to be brave with her.

"Just some stuff," she murmured, ever mindful of state secrets. "A trip overseas went longer than expected."

"Holy shit, Beckett," Esposito grunted. "You're skin and bones."

She ignored his older brother scowling face and turned to Ryan instead. "I know your answer to this, Espo, but I'll ask you again, Ryan."

"No," Ryan said. "Not when Jenny's - no. I have a responsibility to her to not go changing the game up." He shot a piercing look to Esposito, but she couldn't interpret their bro-code eyebrow raises.

She didn't bother to mention that she and Castle would be scaling back. "You'd be stateside support, Ryan. Which means no overseas trips, but also... it is a different feeling, being the one who coordinates and stays behind."

"Ryan..." Esposito was throwing him another look and suddenly Beckett knew exactly what was going on here. _Esposito_ wanted to go; Espo had thought about it. But he wouldn't leave Ryan without his partner.

"Espo," she said with a caught breath. She'd always assumed he was the hold out. That he wanted nothing to do with the feds, with Castle. "You'd come?"

He growled and kept his eyes on Ryan.

"I'd love to have my boys with me," she murmured, shook her head. "And, Javi, your sniper training - that's ideal. Castle was a sniper in..."

She trailed off at the look on his face, stopped mentioning her husband to him. They had a tentative truce, Castle and Espo, but she wasn't going to test it here and now if it meant Esposito might change his mind.

"Never mind, guys," she said quickly. She'd given Ryan something to think about and evidently Esposito was working on him too. "Hey, Espo? Want to spar with me? I need an easy workout."

He flashed her a nasty look for that comment and opened his mouth to snap back at her, but then he paused, gave her a skating look. "Not sure you need to be doing-"

"Oh, not you too," she muttered. "Come on, grow a pair. You afraid you'll have to explain how someone who's been recently emaciated managed to take you down?"

He was glaring at her still, but she saw movement from Ryan and wondered what that signal meant.

"Fine, Beckett. Get your damn clothes."

"They're still here?" she mused, a little breathless with the idea.

"No one has touched your locker. Like it's hallowed ground or some shit. It _is_ supposed to be your cover, right? Gotta keep up the pretense."

She laughed then, turned her smile to Ryan to thank him for whatever he'd not-said to Espo just then. "All right. Meet you in the sparring room in ten minutes."

* * *

Castle frowned when he saw the number on his phone; he knew it, knew the scowling face on the ID, but it scared the shit out of him that he was calling.

Esposito would never call him unless-

"What's wrong with Beckett?" he snapped.

Espo growled. "Well hello to you too."

If the man was posturing, then Beckett couldn't be in a dire emergency. She wasn't shot. Wasn't being airlifted or in an ambulance. He marked those off the list and took a breath. "Detective Esposito, how can I help you?"

"Yeah, I got two things I gotta say to you before Beckett gets back."

Ah. So Esposito had seen Beckett then. Seen the way her jaw angled too sharply and her eyes looked hollowed out. She'd been wearing a jacket that draped all wrong on her shoulders now, and Espo would've noticed that too. "Say it then," he sighed, sinking down into his desk chair.

"Whatever you did to her out there-"

"I know," he answered calmly. "I know."

"If it ever happens again-"

"I know, Espo."

"I'm working on Ry," Esposito said suddenly. "But you gotta guarantee that he stays here. In New York. In the States. He never goes."

"Already done," he promised. "I can email you the position requirements - my tech guy here needs help. He'd be King of Media-"

"You're not allowed to call him that," Espo said. Too quietly.

Castle dropped it. "And you?"

"I'm with Beckett. For every damn mission. If that means it's a threesome, then that's what it is."

"I can't," he gritted out. "Can't give you that guarantee."

"The hell you can't."

"You don't know Beckett if you think that's at all possible."

There was a beat of silence and then Esposito grunted. "Second thing."

"All right," he breathed, let his shoulders slump. Castle couldn't get Beckett to agree to let _him _shadow her like an overgrown bodyguard; it'd be impossible to have two tag-alongs.

Not how the CIA worked anyway.

"Second thing - Beckett's here and she's asking me to spar with her."

Castle sucked in a breath and bowed his head, fought back the surge of despair that rose up in him. She'd asked him for courage and she was damn well going to push the limits, wasn't she? "She was supposed to have physical therapy today but it got postponed."

"She can't possibly take it," Espo growled.

"You'd be surprised," he said wryly. A beat down couldn't be all that much more strenuous than sex. "Actually. Give her hell, Espo. Maybe she'll learn her lesson."

There was a choked noise on the other end that Castle knew was Esposito trying not to laugh. "Or maybe it'll backfire, you asshole, and she'll think she's invincible."

"You telling me Beckett's gonna beat you?"

The call dropped. Castle glanced down and saw Espo had hung up on him.

* * *

Her whole body burned. Her muscles flamed with every movement and her breathing was so loud in her own head that she was certain Esposito could hear it.

But he came at her again, drilled her into the floor with a brutal tackle that knocked the wind out of her. She heaved for air but she also hooked her leg around his knee and flipped Espo over even as he was looking concernedly down into her face.

He grunted when his shoulder hit the mat and she grinned, but her diaphragm was still paralyzed and her lungs wouldn't work. She jerked to her feet and stumbled away from him, tried to suck down air until it came in a rush.

And so did Espo.

She grunted when he launched himself at her, barely got her arms up to defend herself before she was being pummeled again. Beckett let him drive her back before she dug her heels into the mat and ducked, causing Esposito to fly right over her with his momentum. She pivoted on her feet, feeling pretty smug, only to have her knee give way and her body crash to the mat.

She gasped and blinked hard against the sting of pain, tried to figure out how - why - what had happened. Esposito was getting to his feet, rolling his head on his neck, bouncing on his toes as he faced her, and suddenly she realized she was done.

"Tapped out," she grunted, scooting back on the mat and closing her eyes. "I'm out."

There was a long silence as she tried to breathe, battle past the weakening exhaustion that crushed her body in its grip, and then she felt Esposito's hand wrapping around her upper arm and tugging her to her feet.

"Up you go," he grunted. "Shower."

She nodded and opened her eyes, gave him a blazing grin even through the dizziness. "That was good."

"Made me feel like crap though, beating up a woman who-"

"Who _what_?" she hissed, narrowing her eyes at him and stepping toe to toe. He wanted to do this again, well she sure as hell would have his ass on the mat one more time.

He glared back at her but he didn't stand down. "A woman without an ounce of muscle on her frame, _let alone_ body fat to spare. A woman who's standing in front of me only because I'm holding her up." And with a snort and a flare of his nostrils, Esposito let her go.

Beckett swayed, fought it with every fiber of her being until the last second.

And then she fell to her knees on the mat, teeth rattling, going down to one elbow so that her body flared with pain. Espo cursed like he hadn't expected it, but he'd been more right than he'd known. Damn it.

She felt good, alive, but she'd pushed it.

She waved off his help and got back to her feet; she just hadn't been expecting him to let go, hadn't been prepared for the need to balance. That was all.

"I'm gonna shower," she muttered, lifting a hand to the wall as she headed for the door of the sparring room and the lockers beyond. Esposito called out after her, but she waved him off, kept her eyes ahead of her.

A shower. All she needed.

* * *

She cried hot, frustrated tears as the water coursed over her body.

She ignored them and kept her head out of the spray to wash the sweat from her skin, couldn't deny the shape of her ribs so prominent or the weakness in her arms when she tried to lather up the soap.

When the weeping was done, when it seemed she had nothing left to give, Beckett opened her mouth to the spray of water and drank, tried to replenish what she'd lost to sweat and tears.

Blood was next, right?

So she was a wreck, bodily. Fine. She'd already known that. Maybe she shouldn't have baited Esposito, and maybe a sparring match was asking too much of herself after only two weeks being home, but she was sick and tired of _slow_. Worn out with waiting.

After she'd been shot at Montgomery's funeral, she'd resigned herself to the inevitability of the CIA regimen. She'd resisted initially and thought she'd do things her own way, but then she'd followed the program, obeyed like a good girl.

And it had worked.

But now the CIA program was suspect and she wasn't about to follow like a good girl. She knew what healed her, what made her body stronger, and even if she did go after it too hard, she still got there. She'd been doing this for years before Castle showed up - and yes, it was bleaker and not as strong alone - but she still rebuilt.

She had him now too. In theory, she should be unstoppable.

And while her whole body ached so fiercely she could barely breathe, it had felt so _good_ out on that mat, felt like life again as she'd flipped Espo to his back or scored a hit. It felt good to dominate and wrestle and struggle for control - and to find it again, find it in the way her body met her demands and moved with some of that old grace and surety once more.

Even if it had been mostly adrenaline fueling her.

The tears were gone and she was clean enough. Maybe she'd needed the cry too.

Beckett shut off the water and swiped at a trail of hair that had escaped her pony tail, managed to soak her temple as she tucked the lock behind her ear.

She felt a little messy and a little ragged, but _herself_ again. Capable, strong, confident, determined. The things he'd fallen in love with, the things that were the best parts of her.

That was the woman who'd go home today, and that was all that mattered in the end.

* * *

He shouldn't have been surprised when she walked into the command center. He really shouldn't.

But he was.

She looked wrung out and exhausted, but she came to his side with her hands tucked into the back pocket of her jeans and her gaze like flint.

_Read me in_.

She didn't even have to say it.

Castle scanned the room to gauge reactions, saw everyone's eyes on them, waiting for his response so they knew whose lead to follow. He ignored the way he could sense the minute changes in the air around her as she trembled with the effort of holding herself up, and he sat down at the interactive screen and kicked out a chair for her.

"Collins and Malone. Report. Get Beckett up to speed."

"Yes, sir," Malone said first, standing on his feet and lighting up their screens with his presentation. He'd been in Turkey when Castle had brought Beckett back; he'd flown in as Mitchell's support since Mason was stuck in Paris. Malone seen her then, but he didn't act like it was out of the ordinary to see her now.

Beside him, Beckett finally sank to the chair. She still hadn't uttered a word.

If he'd known she was coming, he would've pulled her ID's security clearance and not let her down this far, made her stay up at their offices on the ground level.

He sighed as the map glowed on his screen.

No. He wouldn't have. He'd have let her down here right by his side because she needed it.

And because she'd asked it of him.

_Be brave._

He was trying, but damn she was making it hard.

* * *

Beckett didn't go home until he did. He wasn't happy about it, but no way was he going to start a fight he'd lose in front of his own men. She had worked at her normal station, manipulating data streams and investigating the cash flow to their Russian terrorists, and while he hadn't wanted her to even _think_ about Russia right now, he couldn't deny that now she looked energized by the whole thing.

"You drive here?" he said shortly, stepping onto the elevator with her.

"No. You?"

"Yes," he sighed, relieved that at least he could drive them both home. "In the parking garage."

She pressed the button for the upper levels - the New York Office was topped with a parking garage that rented long-term spaces. When the elevator doors opened, he stepped ahead of her into the dank garage, leading the way even as he checked his weapon in its holster to be sure. His Range Rover was taking up two spaces because the lines were small and he wasn't sure he could get in if someone parked nearby.

"Nice parking," she snorted.

And that was all it took - he'd had it.

Castle growled and reached back for her, grabbed her wrist to pull her flush with him against the passenger side of the car. He leaned in and pressed his mouth over hers, sealing her tightly before stroking his tongue inside, claiming and beseeching in one.

She moaned and clutched his hips, rode the line of his thigh so that his heart thundered in his chest. He slumped against her, pressed his forehead to hers with a shaky indrawn breath, and she curled her arm around his neck.

"What was that for?"

"Your smart mouth. All day long," he muttered. "Wanted to do that all day long."

"To my smart mouth?" she laughed, a light, fluttering thing that belied how much she wanted him too. "Well, drive me home, Castle. We'll see how clever it can be."

* * *

He let Sasha outside in the short square of a yard the moment they got home, and then he turned for the staircase with Kate following behind, figured the dog might enjoy some time in the late afternoon sunlight after being cooped indoors all day.

"You get permission to talk to Viktor Bout?" Kate asked. Her fingers were curled around his belt as they both mounted the stairs.

"No shop talk," he muttered. He was headed straight up to change clothes, and it looked like she would too - or maybe she just wanted to pick his brain about the arms smuggler connection, watch him undress. "I'm tired, and you are too."

"It's not the talking that wears me out," she sighed. But she leaned her forehead into his shoulder blade as he took the last step.

"Wears _me_ out," he said, but he reached back and threaded his arm around her waist, drew her against him as they walked down the short hall to their bedroom. He pressed a kiss to her cheek because he could, because she was wearing flats and he liked the way her hair smelled and how warm her skin was right here.

Kate chuckled and patted his neck with her free hand, nudged her nose into his to dislodge him. He went reluctantly, still half-shrouded with visions of how smart her mouth could be, but she was tired and she'd been pummeled by Esposito on the mat today - even if she hadn't quite put it that way.

"I'm hungry," she said suddenly, sounded surprised about it.

He raised an eyebrow and started to work on his cuff links. "You missed pre-dinner, remember?"

"Oh, oops."

"I told you to go down to the canteen and get an apple and some peanut butter. But you didn't."

"I got distracted."

"It wasn't a suggestion; it was a direct order," he muttered. But he wasn't exactly serious. Yes, he outranked her, but the whole damn office knew how that went.

"Aw, you're cute," she murmured, came closer and took over at his cuff links. Which was good because his fingers felt stupid whenever she looked at him like that - like she could eat him up.

"Thanks," he sighed. His shoulders slumped and his body seemed to cant towards her without his permission, but she merely lifted her eyes to his with a soft smile and unthreaded his cuffs. She set the cuff links down on his dresser and they rattled, a familiar and intimate noise in their bedroom.

She continued to unbutton him, starting at the top and working her way down, her fingers quick and warm. He couldn't help skating his hands to her hips and holding her there, or maybe just holding on, worn out after only five hours.

Of course, all five of those had been spent worrying over her. Okay, not _all_ five, but a good portion of every hour, when she wasn't pressed right against him debating the finer points of an extradition treaty.

Yeah, yeah, no shop talk. No shop think either. He was tired and they were home - and hungry - and he wanted only to settle down on the couch with her and watch some of her stupid television.

Her mouth brushed against his throat and he startled back to the present, glanced down at her as she skimmed her hands around his waist and drew his shirt off. His heart thundered again, but she stopped there, her fingers smoothing over his undershirt, her body against his now.

He leaned down and kissed that expectant mouth, soft brushes of his lips, arching her hips up to meet his. Just a tease, just that close sensation, and then he let her go and drew his hands up to take her shirt off too.

"Now me?" she murmured, amusement spilling at the edges of her irises and making her look happy.

"You need pajamas. Soft and warm," he hummed. She seemed willing to humor him, and she let him toss her shirt towards the closet, landing shy of the laundry hamper by a good five feet.

They worked on their own clothes after that, casting soft glances back and forth, until Kate was wearing those short shorts and that loose purple top, one shoulder exposed, and he was in only a pair of pajama pants and a black cotton t-shirt.

She came to him then and wrapped her arms around his waist, curved her neck to bring her head just under his chin. Castle released a breath he hadn't realized had been caught, and he rested his chin on the top of her head, closed his eyes a moment.

"Thank you," she murmured. "My brave man."

His heart might burst with it.

* * *

"You don't want to shower first?" she murmured.

Castle watched her ass as she descended the steps ahead of him, mesmerized by the sway of her hips and the line of her legs. She had bruises, but she already looked stronger.

He wasn't sure why he so often forgot that this was exactly how she dealt with things, wasn't even sure it should be possible to forget the agony of having her ignore his best advice, having her run roughshod over his need to protect, and just fling herself off the high dive into the deep end.

She'd always been a sink or swim kind of woman. And he loved it; he did. Maybe that gave him the chance to whitewash over their bad times in his head, maybe the intensity of Kate Beckett blinded him to all the stress.

"Earth to Castle," she laughed. She had stopped in the foyer to wait on him and he resumed his steps once more, took the hand she held out to him.

"No, I'll shower after dinner. But you could have. Don't let me stop you."

She arched an eyebrow and gave him a look, and then it hit him what she meant and he chuckled.

"All right, then. Can you wait till after dinner to get up to no good?" he grinned.

"Thought you wanted to do things to my mouth," she murmured. "It could be your birthday treat."

He grinned even wider, something that split the skin and boiled away whatever miseries this day had included. Just like that. That was how Kate Beckett made him forget - all she had to do was look at him. "No way. You promised me something special for my birthday and I'm holding out until I get it."

"Oh, you'll get it," she said darkly, narrowing her eyes at him. "But not today. I'll wait until a day when you could actually handle what I want to give you."

Uh-huh, what had he been saying about stress? Not when she looked like seduction.

"I love you," he sighed, nudging close to kiss the corner of her mouth, a moving target as she headed for the kitchen. She did pause on the threshold to let him catch up once more, and then her fingers stroked the skin along his hip, tunneling under his t-shirt.

"Yeah, back at you. What are you making me for dinner?"

"Oh, _I'm_ making dinner?" He pushed past her to head for the fridge, thinking maybe they'd have one of the meals he'd already prepared. He didn't feel like organizing ingredients and figuring out a recipe right now, not after the day he'd had, but he was even less willing to let her do it.

"You always make dinner," she chuckled. But he felt her hand come to his back as they peered into the fridge, her fingers tapping idly. "How about the spaghetti? Simple, fast. Good. You made a big batch of it."

"You like my homemade spaghetti?" he grinned, pulling out the container.

"It's not from a jar?"

"Nope. Mixed the sauce myself. And made the meatballs with a combination of ground turkey and ground beef, seasoned the raw meat."

"Wow," she laughed. Her eyes were bright as she looked at him and he could see a round bruise blooming like a wild flower across her exposed shower. "Went to a lot of work for that spaghetti, sweetheart."

"For you," he shrugged. "And me too. Spaghetti is one of my favorites."

She grinned at him now, took the container from his hands to pry the lid off. "You sit down, Castle. I'm still running on adrenaline, I think, and you look like you could collapse at any moment. I'll do this."

"No, I got it," he murmured, trying to pull it away from her. She elbowed him aside and moved to the microwave, dampened a paper towel to place over the open container. Just like he would have done. Trick he'd learned online as he'd been skulking recipe and cooking blogs.

So he sank down at the kitchen table and watched her move around the kitchen. She really did look like she was up and ready to go, despite her weariness; he'd seen this manic buzz in her before, other cases, and even if it wasn't healthy all the time, he knew she'd sleep so much better for it.

And therapy today - her session had probably dredged up the darkest secrets, and he knew what that did to her. How it made her feel. So if she was smiling and babying him, if she was taking off his cufflinks and heating up their dinner, then fine. He liked that better than finding her curled up in their bed with her eyes closed, shutting everything and everyone out.

She had already pulled down plates and set them on the counter, followed by glasses, and then she moved to the fridge and reached inside. He tensed, waiting, but she withdrew the carton of milk and he gave her an answering smile when she lifted an eyebrow at him in salute.

Yeah, okay. Just because she'd been too distracted to head to the canteen for a snack didn't mean that she wasn't going to follow the diet Carrie had prescribed.

He closed his eyes for a minute and heard the microwave go off, then the sounds of her stirring and putting it back, setting the timer once more. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers and drifted for a minute on the rhythmic sounds of Kate in their kitchen.

"Hey, love," she said suddenly, her voice in his ear and her palm hot on his thigh. "You awake?"

He opened his eyes to find her bent over him, tenderness in the crooked slant of her mouth. "Yeah, awake."

"Want to eat on the couch at the coffee table or in here?"

"It's ready?"

"Uh-huh. Even heated you up some bread."

"Oh." He blinked and saw she'd set both plates on the table, their glasses - both with milk. "On the Ugly couch."

"I figured," she murmured. "Come on, super spy. On your feet."

He lumbered up, feeling awkward and tired, but he cradled his plate in one hand and took his glass of milk, and he followed her into the living room. He wouldn't say it again, but he felt it anyway, felt it leak right out of him just like his concentration, just like all the tense energy he'd been hoarding all day. He really should stop saying it every five minutes or it would get old, lose its power.

But Kate turned around at the couch and smiled so softly, and then she said it for him.

"Love you too, Rick."

And everything felt better.


	10. Chapter 10

**Close Encounters 11**

* * *

Castle wasn't sure how they it gotten this way, but somehow their plates were stacked on the coffee table, milk all drunk, and his head was in her lap. Or rather, his head was at her belly and his chest at her hips and the rest of him sprawled along the couch and over her legs while she stroked her fingers through his hair and played with his ear.

It was arousing and it was hypnotic and he wanted to sleep for a thousand years. He was just so tired lately.

Her thumb circled under his earlobe at that sensitive spot where his skin fell away from his jaw, and the television played another episode of her weird soap opera - 'Temptation Lane', and this time the evil witch had turned one of the main characters into a doll _that she talked to_ - but he simply coasted on waves of drugging pleasure.

(Seriously, he didn't think soap operas were supposed to be supernatural.)

Her knee shifted and came up to bracket his hip; he sighed and felt her stomach ripple in reaction. She tweaked his ear because she must have felt his smirk, and he curved his palm to her ribs. She was bruised from today and her arm still had the scars from the wolf's teeth, but here he was lying on top of her.

He kinda liked it. Yeah, he a lot liked it.

"Weird," she murmured then, her voice coming out from under his ear and wrapping around him.

"What?"

"This is a really old episode. Did we DVR this?"

"I think I messed up and set it to record any show that came on - not just the new ones."

"Seriously, this episode's from... I wanna say the 80s. Must've had a marathon."

"Hard to tell, lately. The way style has gone."

She laughed under him, fingers curling at his neck. "True, but these characters are old. I remember this episode too, I think. From my mom and I curling on the couch together when I was sick."

"Aw," he hummed, smiling at the thought of lanky, skinny Katie curling up at her mom's side. "She stayed home with you?"

"Um-hm," she sighed. "Though when we watched, she'd often be writing briefs. Longhand, you know. Before laptops."

He grinned. "If she was anything like you - yeah, I can totally picture that. You'd stay home with our kid and be doing the same, but in this day and age, you'd be hassling me from your phone."

She laughed then, both arms wrapping around his head and shoulders, knees squeezing his hips. "You'd rather I hassle Malone instead? I'd do it. He likes me."

He grunted and turned his face to nip her ribs, lightly, a pinch of shirt more than skin, and she gasped and clutched his ear, twisting. He lifted up and grinned at her, but a voice from the television snagged his attention, jerked his head around to stare dumbly.

"Rick?" she asked with concern.

"Holy shit," he gasped. Her arms fell away from him as he sat up, heart tripping in his ribs.

He felt her sit up beside him, her hand curling over his forearm, but he could barely think.

"It's - that's - my mother."

"Oh my God," she whispered.

His mother had acted in Kate's favorite soap opera as a child.

"I _know_ her," Kate gasped.

* * *

Castle didn't ask her, but for some reason that blank, dull look on his face made Kate want to tell him. Everything she knew.

"I didn't make the connection," she said quietly. "She looked differently then, and maybe I thought something about her was familiar when she showed up at the wine bar to meet with us... I should have realized."

"I never expected you to," he rasped then, but his eyes were fixed on the television screen. He'd muted the sound, as if he couldn't bear to hear her voice, but his eyes tracked her form and movement.

"I should've realized," she murmured again. Hadn't she looked up the woman's credits and roles? She had definitely looked through the early years, the first five years of Castle's life, but she'd only investigated the last few years to discover where Martha had gone. "Poor detective work on my part."

He grunted but his eyes didn't move.

Kate leaned against his shoulder. "She was only on the show for a little while, maybe a month? My mom's favorite. In fact she started watching 'Temptation Lane' when she was put on bedrest with me. Seraphina Fox is her name."

Still, Castle said nothing. None of those soft looks her way, none of the soothing brushes of his fingers across her hip as she unburied old stories about her mother.

"Here she's married to Joseph Fox - he's like the quintessential soap opera star, Castle. He's been on this show for ages. He and Seraphina were old high school lovers reunited, and this is the one - I think - where they get married."

"They get married," he repeated.

"On the show," she murmured. She reached out cautiously and hooked her fingers around his elbow. "Though... there were rumors she and Lance Hastings - that's Fox - were an offscreen couple. For a long time, actually, which was why she was brought on the show."

"Slept her way to the top."

Kate bit her lip and frowned, though it certainly had some ring of truth to it. Maybe she should avoid talking about the rumors and stick to what she knew - the plotlines to her mother's favorite character. "Seraphina was kidnapped and buried alive, and then trapped in a cave with bears, kidnapped again - oh, and held hostage in the sewers of Paris. Rather 'Phantom of the Opera' that one. I loved it as a kid; I thought it was so romantic how Joseph Fox scoured the world for her. I wanted them to have babies."

"On the show," he said, repeating her words back to her. As if his mother was no one to model, no one to look up to for anything.

"On the show," she sighed.

"I - let's watch something else," he gruffed, dropping his eyes from the screen and reaching for the remote.

"Okay," she said quietly.

Castle went back to their list of recordings, seemed to select something at random. She didn't expect them to go back to that same level of comfort and ease, but she wanted to do what she could for him, give him something, something to hold on to.

She nudged her shoulder into his and pushed her way into his lap, laying her head on his thigh. Castle let out a long sigh, but he sank back to the cushions and dropped his hand at her ear.

The television played a mindless comedy, one of the shows her father had made them watch that year Castle had been stabbed. It depicted a crazy family trying to deal with the grandfather in prison and the cousins maybe in love with each other - and she felt Castle's fingers begin to slowly, slowly stroke through her hair.

She closed her eyes and focused on his touch, on the barely held together tension in his body, tried to _will_ him into letting it go.

Martha was an actress; her work might continue to be a landmine in their lives, but Kate would do whatever it took to keep Castle from falling apart.

She wrapped an arm around his thigh and opened her eyes again, content to pretend to watch television with him until he was able to relax once more and let it wash over him.

He was usually so much better at that than her.

* * *

It took a while to get there, but at some point in the night, he realized they'd been sitting on the couch watching nothing. Nothing really. A show, but he hadn't been paying attention and he bet she hadn't either.

Time to stop this.

"Shower?" he rasped, had to clear his throat and try again. "I believe you promised me some cleverness."

She squeezed his inside thigh and lifted up from his leg, her eyes on him. "Time to pay up?"

"Mm, calling it in," he murmured.

She studied him a moment longer and then stood, moving so that her body was lithe and hot sliding along his, and then she was already walking away.

He followed because he didn't know what else to do. She always found relief in the connection of their bodies, the way it burned everything clear, and he was willing to try.

Yeah, he could do that. Shower might help too; wash it away. And then sleep, Kate curled up at his back like she sometimes did, the way it felt to have that heat centered at his neck and shoulders, the hard points of her knees at the back of his thighs.

He could really use some sleep. The bed looked seductive. He snagged the hem of his t-shirt to draw it over his head.

"I'm supposed to tell you something," she said suddenly, awkwardly. He glanced over and saw that her body was closed to him in the armchair. He was in the middle of taking off his pajamas, but he dropped his t-shirt to the floor in front of her and waited for whatever came next.

"Tell me something," he prompted.

She nodded.

Oh, right. "You mean from therapy?"

"Yes," she said. She had her elbows on her knees and her body hunched over, hands clasped. She looked hesitant to speak, her eyes on the floor; she'd been hesitant with him ever since he'd seen his mother on 'Temptation Lane'. But he didn't want to think about that.

"You're supposed to look at me," he reminded her softly. They'd both gotten the rules in their packets that first day of joint therapy after his father had tried to kill her. The sharing exercises were ideally something they did together after a session, but they hadn't been back together for a session in a year or more.

"I'm getting there," she said finally.

"Can you get there faster?" he murmured, trying to smooth her way with a little sarcasm. "I got a rendezvous in the shower, Beckett, and she's kinda hot."

He saw her smile ease slowly over her face and then her eyes inadvertently darted up to his. He grinned and winked at her and she rolled her eyes but sat back in the chair, still watching him undress.

He was tempted to put on a show, ham it up, but if she needed to say something from therapy, he probably shouldn't distract her.

"I'm supposed to - uh - come clean?"

His stomach dropped. He just couldn't - couldn't tonight.

"About how I feel," she said finally, wincing and shaking her head. "Dr King and I have been working on my sense of... responsibility. Guilt, actually."

"Guilt for what?" he interrupted, then sighed as he remembered he'd broken the rules. "Sorry. Go on."

She scraped a hand through her hair and held it on top of her head; her raised arm formed a screen for her face so that all he saw was the half-curve of her frown and one troubled eye.

"Guilty for leaving you," she said finally. "I was selfish, and I wanted you safe even though I knew that your father - that Black is the one person you never want to be trapped with, under his control. I knew that and I still... left you to him."

"Kate," he started, opening his mouth to protest.

But she shook her head sharply and he was reminded again of the rules. She was allowed to say how she felt and he wasn't supposed to belittle those feelings by telling her she was wrong.

Even though she was wrong.

"I feel guilty," she restated, clasping her hands together. "Even though you already said - even though I know you've forgiven me."

"Kate," he called out, desperate to come to his own defense, to _her_ defense because she never would. "Love, there's nothing to forgive. I was mad, I know, and I regret that - putting this all on you, but you _know-_"

"Castle," she warned him again. She was a stickler for the rules. "I'm supposed to tell you how I feel about it."

There was more still to come? He'd thought she'd been done.

"I know you've forgiven me," she said again. "But I don't feel it."

His mouth dropped open; he sank to the edge of the bed. She didn't _feel_ it? But - and seriously, _Kate Beckett_ was telling him that her feelings were leading her head astray? Beckett was giving in to her feelings?

"Why don't you feel it?" he rasped, not even sure he was allowed to ask the question.

What more could he do to prove himself?

"It's just me," she murmured, shaking her head. "I just - you know that I've had this out with King and I'm no longer quite the abandoned little girl-"

She said it derisively, she said it with snark and disdain, but he knew it was a big deal. Knew that it had everything to do with her mother being taken from her and her father choosing to go - not to death, but to a bottle. It wasn't about Castle; it was about her. Still it ached in him.

"Kate," he said quietly.

She closed her mouth on whatever sarcasm came next and she nodded, but she no longer looked so cowed.

"It's me and - it's a lack of evidence," she said finally, her words clipped, fast, like she could rush it out there and it'd hurt less. "I need evidence to back up my beliefs. But the only other example I've got - the only other person in your life who's done this..."

Done what?

"...is your mother."

"My mother?" he blanched.

"She's the only other person who's abandoned you to him, and Castle, _God_, you don't even speak to her. So what am I supposed to think?"

* * *

"No, no, no," he chanted, his hands cupped at her cheeks and his forehead pressed to hers.

But she was fine; she was steady actually. "Rick," she murmured. She stroked her hands down his shoulders and gripped his biceps. "Hey, come on."

"I'll - I can do whatever you need, Kate. I could call her and - there should be - something. I can do something. We can meet for dinner. Or - the wine bar was good, right, love?"

She sighed and nudged his mouth with hers, tried to stem his babbling with a soft kiss. "Rick, hey, stop. That's - fine. But do that for you, only for you. I can deal."

"You can _deal_?" he rasped. "Kate."

"Dr King just made me promise to tell you I felt like that - and I know it's messed up. I know it's twisted up in everything, but love, you need to do this at your own pace. Your mother-"

"I'd never do anything if you didn't make me," he blurted out.

She lifted her head and couldn't help the smile that cracked slowly along the seam of her lips; Castle looked both horrified and chagrinned at the same time.

He sighed. "Yeah. Well, you know that's true. I'd never have looked for her, never have met her if it weren't for you. King says it's been good for me to see that the situation wasn't black and white. That other things were in the mix."

She lifted an eyebrow in surprise and he huffed at her, ducked his head. He snagged her hands in his and fiddled with her fingers; she let him mess around, tried to ignore the rest of it, everything else that had seethed inside her during therapy, everything she'd beaten out of herself both physically and mentally today.

And look what she'd done to him. She'd asked him for his trust, his courage, and she'd slammed herself against the wall again and again today, needing numbness. She'd always handled - or not handled - her life that way.

But it wasn't fair to him. "Castle."

He lifted his head, a swallow making his throat work. He was so worried about her, so broken up because of her, and what had she done but tease him and lay this shit at his feet about not feeling forgiven?

She had to say the rest.

"I've been having dreams," she cracked.

"Oh, Kate," he sighed, coming to his knees before her now, wrapping his arms around her. "I know. I know. I've been waking you up."

She buried her face against his neck and breathed, felt his palm wide at the back of her skull. But she was okay; she was okay.

His fingers stroked her neck, over and over, his mouth caressing her temple. "Bad dreams, love? Tell me."

She lifted her head and straightened up, clenched her fists. He was still on his knees in front of her and she couldn't help lifting her bare feet to his thighs, tracing the lines of his muscles with her toes. "Wolves. Like - that night in the cave on the way out. A lot of wolves."

"So you went to the pet adoption center to force it out of you," he sighed.

"No," she frowned. "Oh. I - guess I did, yeah. But this dream - it's not me. It's you."

"It's me what, sweetheart?"

She watched her big toe slide up his thigh. "Here. Right here. Where the scar is."

"It's fine; I'm fine," he murmured.

"In the dream, the wolves are eating you alive."

He flinched, but he wrapped his fingers around her ankle and stroked softly at the bone. She shivered.

"This is the one I see. Every time," she said quietly, made the effort of releasing her fingers and pressing her palms to the arms of the chair. "This wound. The wolf's muzzle wet with blood, muscle ripped free and threading through his teeth-"

"Okay, okay. Enough." Castle got to his feet and hauled her upright, dragged her against his chest for a brutal embrace. "Enough, Kate. It was shrapnel from a mortar shell, and then you saved my life. You _saved my life_. Because of you, I'll get to play with my kids one day, take my dog for a walk, kiss my wife."

His lips brushed her eyelid, trailed across her lashes. She barely dared to breathe.

"Love, you didn't leave me to the wolves. The one person other than you - the very person who might move heaven and earth to keep me alive - that was the person you gave me to. Despite the danger to yourself, despite how desperate a position you were in, you gave me this right here, this moment with you. To hold you again, to stand on my own two feet in our bedroom and feel my heart beating hard for you. Oh, Kate, don't feel unforgiven for that."

She nodded into his words because she believed them, she believed him - he had never been able to lie to her, deceive her. Never.

"And if I have to prove it, Kate Beckett, I will prove it. I'll call Martha tomorrow morning and invite her to dinner because _you_ mean everything to me - I'd move heaven and earth for you."

Kate came up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her desperate, grateful kiss to his still open mouth, swallowing his words.

* * *

After their shower, Kate tucked the towel around his waist, saw the heat that rippled behind his eyes. A little far away now, only a stir, and she kissed the damp skin of his collarbone as she pushed him out of the still-muggy bathroom.

"Time to sleep, Rick," she murmured. He was loose-limbed and warm against her hands, and it was easy to sit him down on the bed. She couldn't remember seeing him so docile before, but once his legs hit the mattress, he seemed to rouse, get with it again.

She shed her own towel and pulled pajamas on once more, watching to make sure he did the same. Castle went for boxer briefs only and crawled in under the sheets with his eyes on her, but his gaze wasn't intent, only appreciative.

Kate put a knee at the edge of the bed and reached out to comb her fingers through his wet hair; his eyes slammed shut and his body sank deeper into the mattress. She sat at the head of the bed and traced his eyebrow with her thumb, leaned in around him, her elbow in his pillow to hold herself up.

"You need to sleep," he grumbled.

"I will. Let me do this first," she murmured back. She ducked her head and kissed the warm skin at the corner of his eye, traced a line back to his temple. Castle grunted and unfolded an arm from beneath him, snaked it around her stacked knees.

"You sleep," he sighed, but she could tell he was losing the battle. His hand relaxed along her thigh and she circled his ear with her fingers, around and around, the soft places where fuzz covered his lobe and to the bristle where his scruff rasped against her skin.

She sank down a little in their bed, still curled up near his head, and pressed gentle touches of her lips to his face, to every line she'd made deeper today, to the scars he'd garnered for her, to the man in her arms who was everything.

When he fell asleep, she stayed awake for a long time, watching him.

* * *

He woke in the night with his arm throbbing and a funny taste in his mouth, opened his eyes only to discover that Kate was asleep propped up against the headboard. She'd already be sore in the morning from her sparring, but sleeping like that was going to be brutal.

Castle shifted and slid his arm out from under his body, wincing as pins and needles bore deep into his bones. He found the edge of Kate's shirt and fumbled up to her shoulder, cradled the back of her neck as he scooted her down into bed.

She gasped and jerked in his grip, but he curled her in against him, dragged his other arm from around her knees to loop at her waist. He was still worn out enough that the panic crawling across her face didn't register deeply enough with him to do something about it before she was already settled once more, eyes slipping closed.

He breathed out against her neck in a sigh that made her mumble, but his fingers pressed to her hip seemed to keep her there and sleep was tugging him into darkness.

Then he remembered. He would have to call his mother tomorrow.


	11. Chapter 11

**Close Encounters 11**

* * *

Castle pressed the phone to his ear and sank down at the kitchen table. The ringing at the other end went on and on, and the bowl of raisin bran in front of him was getting soggy.

He swirled the spoon around in the milk, and then he sighed and thumbed off the call. He settled his phone on the table and shoveled another bite of cereal in his mouth, trying to ignore how his mother hadn't answered the last two phone calls.

Kate was still asleep upstairs and he had half a mind to crawl into bed with her, but he'd promised to call. And he would.

So he swallowed down the last of his cereal and dialed her number again.

This time it answered on the first ring and he was so surprised that Martha's initial, sour hello made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth.

"Who's there?" she said. "If you're going to be calling me at this godforsaken hour, you might as well speak up."

Castle felt like that five year old boy again, but he got his tongue moving. "Martha. It's Rick."

"Oh, Richard, darling. What are you doing calling at six o'clock in the morning? Has something happened to Katherine?"

He did a quick check of the time on the oven and winced. "I was up. I hadn't realized... Kate is fine. Everything's fine. I shouldn't have called."

"Oh, no. Now that you've woken the whole house, you might as well settle something for me."

Settling something? "Ah, what am I settling?"

"Robert and I are having an ongoing disagreement. I say brocade and he says sheer. Do weigh in, darling."

His mind was blank. He had absolutely no idea.

"Oh, come on. He might be my third husband, but he's quite ornery. And he likes to spend my money. So I need a second opinion."

"I... your third husband?" Had Kate said that Martha was married? He couldn't remember. Had Martha mentioned it in the handful of times they'd gotten together?

"Oh, you know Robert. He's a philandering sycophant, but what's a woman to do?"

"Kick him to the curb," Castle grunted.

There was silence on Martha's end and he sighed, rubbed a hand down his face.

"Never mind," he muttered. "You do as you see fit. Kate says I'm a bully."

"Well, if you bully your wife, then I consider it an honor to be on the receiving end."

Castle twisted his face at that, but if she wanted it, fine. He could give it. "Why are you married to him if he cheats on you and spends all your money?"

"Perhaps it is only what I deserve," she said airily. She laughed a little and kept on going, apparently not willing to hear his response to that. "It's six in the morning, darling. What's going on?"

"Kate reminded me... that I hadn't called in a while. It's been hectic at work."

"Ah."

At least she didn't blurt out _because you're a spy_ or anything equally revealing. He didn't know what else he was supposed to say, but Kate was upstairs in bed and he couldn't help remembering her face last night, that terrible burden he'd somehow put on her.

"Yeah," he agreed into the silence. "So. Third marriage, huh? How well did you know Robert before you married him?"

"Darling, you know how these things go. Robert can be a drain on the finances, but he's such a _fun_ person."

Castle figured he ought to do a background check, so he resolved himself to hearing all about Robert in order to gather information on this asshole.

"What does Robert do, Mother?"

"Oh, darling, when you call me _mother, _you sound so serious. But Robert - ah, a little of this, a little of that."

Uh-huh. He'd been afraid of that.

* * *

When sunlight breached her eyelids, Kate groaned and turned away, burrowing deeper into the covers. A weight slid off her waist and landed heavily on the bed at her back, but she pressed her cheek to the cool pillow and tried to melt back into dreams.

Suddenly that warm body was against her spine, a yawn in her ear and a nose nuzzling into her neck, wet kisses that made her grunt and squirm.

"Tired," she groaned, elbowing him off.

But it was fur her elbow sank into, shaggy and too warm, and she grunted and jerked out of bed, tripping in the sheets before awareness came and she had her senses.

"Sasha," she gasped.

The dog laid low on her belly with her head down, whining into the covers, tail dragging slowly. Kate sighed and came back to the bed, slowly, pressed her legs down between the sheets. Sasha stayed absolutely still, waiting on her, and Kate cast her hand out to the dog's ruff and held on.

The wolf wriggled closer this time, licked her neck and chin before nudging her cold nose against Kate's ear. Those wet kisses. She petted Sasha down the long line of her back, her coat short and lighter. Carrie always groomed them together, Sasha and Bo, shaved them down when it began to get warm again.

"Hey, puppy," she murmured appreciatively, taking the initiative to curl closer this time.

"Hey, look who's still in bed," came Castle's voice. Kate flopped onto her back to look at him, and it seemed invitation to Sasha to come wriggling and happy right up onto her chest. Her heart raced but she wrapped an arm loosely around the dog, pretended it was nothing.

"You sent the dog in to wake me," she muttered.

He laughed. "No, actually. I took her outside and when I let her back in, she ran all the way up here by herself." Castle came to his side of the bed and sat down, roughly rubbing Sasha's back. "Hey, Sash. Yeah, you, puppy. You took my spot, you mongrel."

Kate grinned and scratched the dog between the ears, stroked the soft fur back from her nose and between her eyes just like Sasha liked it. "Ignore him, puppy. You can stay right here on me."

"But _I _wanna be on you," Castle huffed, wriggling down into bed with her. "It's only seven in the morning and I want to spend at least two more hours in bed with you."

"You are in bed with me," she pointed out.

He growled and Sasha picked her head up from Kate's chest, gave him a warning growl back. Kate laughed and closed her fingers around the dog's muzzle in that automatic gesture they'd used to teach her to behave, and then she froze when Sasha whined and tried to duck.

She had her hand around the wolf's mouth.

"You got it, Kate," he murmured.

She let out a breath, still holding on. "No growling, Sasha."

"Little puny on the command, Beckett."

"Shut up. See if you get close to teeth after having your arm shredded by a wolf."

"Oh, poor baby. Not like you're not seeing a therapist for it."

She smacked his shoulder and rolled towards him, upsetting their wolf enough to make Sasha get up and move to the foot of the bed. Kate flicked Castle's ear and then kissed it.

"And what about you?" she murmured, let her teeth trace the shell of his ear. "You ready for the wolf's teeth?"

He gulped and his fingers spread along her hip, traced her ribs. "I don't want to."

"Soon as it's a decent hour, you're calling your mother," she threatened, nipping his lobe with her teeth.

"Guess what?" he huffed, but then he was on top of her, bearing her down into the mattress with a hot look.

"What?"

"I already called her. You missed it."

She grinned up at him, tilted her head. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. And we'll meet up with her later. But you're coming first."

"Coming where?" She'd expected to go with him to dinner anyway; she'd expected to have his mother over here, actually.

"Coming here," he murmured, and suddenly she felt the caress in his words and the intent, the heat of his hand over her side and hip.

"Oh," she murmured, grinning now and meeting his gaze. "Oh, I like that."

* * *

"We're running late," she muttered as they came in the back door.

"Not my fault," he said, ushering Sasha back inside the house. "You were the one who said _stay_."

Sasha jerked to a halt and he nearly tumbled right over her even as Kate laughed at them both. She reached back and tugged the dog's collar, pulled her over the threshold.

"Not you, puppy. That was for your Daddy. I told him to stay. He felt really good right there."

Castle grunted and nudged Sasha's rump with his knee. "Let's go. Come on. As you said, we're going to be late."

"Worth it, though," she said, lifting an eyebrow as she laid the dog's water dish down on the kitchen floor. "You have some incredible staying power, Agent Castle."

"You can't just _say _things like that to me," he muttered, reaching out to snag her hip. She laughed but she came, and he pressed his mouth against hers in both punishment and reward. "Gives me nice little flashbacks, love."

"Me too," she hummed, nipping his lip for another kiss. He liked that, liked how her hands were suddenly curious and her mouth ready to play. Not the best time and place, but it was only a therapy session they were late for-

"We gotta go," he gasped, wrenching away from her, holding her back with his hands on her shoulders. "Stop trying to get out of it."

"I hate therapy," she sighed, her body drooping. "It messes me up." He narrowed his eyes at her, but he could tell there was truth in it despite her playing it up for his benefit.

"Yeah, but I like you messed up," he said, wriggling his eyebrows at her. "After a session like that, baby, you get really aggressive."

"Aggressive? I haven't-"

He raised an eyebrow and she actually blushed, smacked her hand against his chest.

"Don't begrudge me my coping mechanisms," she muttered.

"Oh no, never," he swore. "I adore your coping mechanisms. I could cope with you all day."

She groaned and dipped her forehead to his collarbone for just a moment, but then she was twisting out of his arms and shrugging him off. "Come on. We're late."

"Who's fault is that _now_?"

"Still mine. But this time, Castle, don't stay. _Come._"

"Yeah, that's what _stay_ led to, sweetheart. You forget already?"

She laughed and reached back to snag his forearm, drag him after her. He came; she didn't need to convince him.

* * *

"How'd that make you feel?" King asked.

She didn't even have to pause. "Great. Stronger. For once." She nodded and cast another glance at Castle, wondered why he'd gotten sullen. Why he was studying the flat slant of his nails as if looking for dirt.

She shook it off and looked back at King, smiling again. But he was looking at Castle as well. "Richard. You have something you want to ask in follow up?"

His head jerked up and the words seemed to burst out of him. "Why did getting your ass beat on a mat make you feel stronger?"

She stared at him, a heartbeat of stunned silence, and then she splayed her hand against the arm of the chair to hold on. "Because it's normal. Because I'm working - _doing_ something again. Because it's in my control."

"Kate, please explain why the control makes you feel stronger," King inserted smoothly.

She cast him a disbelieving look. "Why wouldn't it? That seems pretty clear to me. If he doesn't understand it by now, then therapy sure as hell isn't doing us any good."

"You're defensive," King said quietly. "Why is that?"

"She has good reason to be defensive," Castle bit out. "She's asking me to trust her - be brave, she said - and then she throws herself into these situations where she's actively working to kill herself. _Be brave, Castle, I'm going to eviscerate myself."_

She gaped at him. "It's not - you're insane. I worked out at the 12th with a guy who knows when to stop. I played with a few dogs in a secure and controlled environment. I went to work and did my job. What the _hell_?"

He wouldn't look at her now, and yeah she was defensive - because of this. Because he made her out to be reckless and stupid when he _knew_ - he knew - that she worked like this. That this was how she coped. She could take it.

"You going to tell her?" Castle asked King suddenly. "You going to explain it to her for me, since no matter what I say, she's going to step out onto nothing and let herself fall?"

She opened her mouth to let him have it, but King beat her to it.

"No. Why should I?"

Castle's turn to gape. _Ha._

King went on. "She's not hurt. She's not doing anything illegal. That I know of. Isn't that tenacity of hers - the sense of stepping out where she has no proof of finding a safe landing - isn't that exactly what you want from her?"

Holy hell, she loved Dr King. Exactly. _Exactly_, Castle.

"I - no? What?"

"If she hadn't abandoned her reason and ignored her years of habitual solitude, if Kate had not decided that whatever happened with you couldn't be worse than being without - then do you think either of you would be here? Would you have this relationship?"

Castle dragged his gaze to her and she sat upright in her chair, flushed with her triumph but faintly ashamed at the horror that bloomed in his eyes. Because she'd never managed to tell him this on her own, with her own words.

Well, she hadn't really known how.

"She took a chance on you, Agent Castle. She took a very large risk, to put it mildly. And even though it hasn't been the softest of landings-"

"It's fine," she interrupted, shaking her head. "It's soft. It's wonderful. I wouldn't-"

"She's still here. The same drive that pushed her to accept you also pushes her now - to be stronger, to be in control, to test her limits and throw herself to the wolves - just to see if it works."

She closed her mouth, cast a skittering look at King. That part about the wolves. Was that on purpose? He was serene, ever bland, but there was knowing there too. He _had_ said it on purpose; he meant to make it clear what she was doing. Had done. Would do.

How hypocritical of her to be twisted in knots over a nightmare when she was probably inducing them with her own behavior. Throwing herself to the wolves and making Castle watch - just like her nightmare.

"Okay," Castle said quietly. "I - see."

So did Kate. "We can spar. Instead," she gave him, trying to offer him something that would look less like - what had he said? - eviscerating herself. "At the office in the training room. You'll know then, how much. You'll see what I can take."

"I don't want to fight you," he choked out.

"It's not a fight," she murmured. "It's just a workout."

"I'm not landing a punch," he growled back, eyes freezing over. "I'd just _stand there_, Kate."

"Oh."

Castle wouldn't look at her now.

"Richard," King said smoothly. "Please come up with an alternate means of reassurance."

"A what?"

"Kate just offered to let you share the control over her physical recovery - did you miss that?"

Castle's face shifted. She saw the moment it went from sullen and frustrated to amused and disbelieving. He gave her a sideways look and his mouth quirked in the corner.

"Was that what that was? A peace offering?"

"It was... a way to show you that I'm not damaging myself. That I need it."

"A relationship is about compromise - I'm sure you've heard that before," King said quickly. "However, compromise in this case is not in regards to who gets to record their favorite show or who's picking up the child from daycare. Compromise is one personality ceding territory to the other personality. Control. You both value control so highly - so preeminently - that this will be a point of contention for a while."

"I'm a bully," Castle said, his lips still half-turned up.

"I won't argue that point," Kate smirked. He chuckled and his hand came out to drape over hers on the chair arm, a slight squeeze of his fingers before he let her go.

"As such," King continued, "your progress will hinge upon you both finding control once more - but in mutually compatible ways. Kate was subject to some extreme conditions that were out of her control, but Richard, you were as well. As soon as you recognize that-"

"You mean, because I couldn't get to Kate," he said abruptly.

She turned her head to look at him, surprised at the hard edge to his tone, more surprised at the way his jaw worked so fiercely. Agony barely contained in his eyes.

Because he couldn't get to her.

"Yes," King said. "And?"

"And even when I did..."

"You did nothing wrong," she hissed, leaning forward when he trailed off and wouldn't meet her eyes. "Castle. You saved my life. You got me out of there; you got me home."

He nodded, shortly, as if it was a phrase stuck on repeat in his head, one he acknowledged as existing but not as being worthwhile.

"What did you tell me last night?" she pushed. "Castle. Tell me."

He gave her a mournful look, all broken little boy, and she wanted suddenly to crowd him in his chair, push her body against his and wrap her arms around him, keep him.

"You gave me this," she echoed. His own words from last night. "You gave me this moment. Alive, my heart beating. Don't make it less just because it was a struggle to get here."

There was a too-long silence and then Castle nodded again, but his fingers uncurled from his fist and his body eased marginally. Progress.

"I nearly killed us both out there," he said finally, his throat working with words he didn't say.

She could guess. "But you didn't."

He shook his head. "Grace of God, I didn't."

"I'll take grace," she said.

His lips quirked again, and then he was turning a look on her she couldn't identify. "I'm not naming my kid that, but yeah. I'll take it."

Suddenly, she really wanted therapy to be over. Really wanted _him._

* * *

"I hate homework," he muttered.

Kate's fingers brushed against his as they waited for the elevator. Amusement seemed to ripple around her, displacing the air. "Thought you _loved_ therapy."

"Yeah, but then he gave me homework," he whined. He liked her amused, liked her trying to hold back her smile. "On top of the homework _you_ gave me - dinner with my mother at some future time."

"No rest for the weary," she murmured. The door slid open with a ding and they stepped onto the lift in concert. She pressed the button for the ground floor and Castle took the hand as it came back to her side.

Her fingers were cool, her skin soft. He rubbed his thumb slowly against hers and she rubbed back, a tangle of touch. It felt new this morning, felt like they were doing this for the first time.

"You won't spar with me?" she asked. Her voice sounded quiet, almost girlish in the echoing space of the elevator.

"I couldn't," he sighed. "I'd try - if it really meant a lot to you - but I couldn't-"

"I wouldn't ask it," she said quietly. "It's just an easy way to get your homework done."

"Easy for you maybe," he grunted. But that wasn't true either - and wasn't that the point? That the intense physicality of a combat scenario wasn't even close to easy, and he couldn't do that to her right now. Couldn't bear to be the one to knock her down.

"But I feel stronger for it," she continued. "And I think if you _saw_ how much stronger I already am, maybe-"

"Kate."

She went quiet, but he didn't feel badly for cutting her off. They'd gone over this same ground in therapy only minutes ago, so it wasn't like it was new. She just seemed to feel the need to prove herself to him and he couldn't explain that she never had to prove anything.

Because, deep down, maybe she did. Maybe. Maybe he couldn't be brave unless he knew for sure that it wouldn't lead to drowning in a bathtub as she bled out, or getting thrown from a horse and crawling insensate through the woods of Stone Farm. Maybe he could be brave if he knew she wasn't so very capable of wrecking herself.

"I'll think of something else," he promised. "Homework, right? I'll find a different way for you to reassure me."

"And not sex," Kate added. "Which is too bad he vetoed that, because that is one thing we are excellent at. I could reassure you all day."

He laughed and her fingers squeezed around his as the elevator opened up onto the lobby. They stepped off as one, her thumb tracing designs at the heel of his hand, and she guided them towards the door.

The sun was brilliant on its slant; the buildings shined. Kate leaned in as they turned the corner, ghosted her mouth against his cheek.

"I love you," she reminded him.

"I know." He didn't need reassurance of that.

* * *

The office was crowded this afternoon. She hadn't seen everyone yesterday and now wondered where they'd been, what mission was in the works that Castle had neglected to tell her about. Hidden from her.

She didn't bring it up though. Therapy this morning had made all their dark places a little too raw, their edges sharp once more despite the easy silence they'd found on the walk over. She plotted points on the map and pulled up the data streams they had, started sifting information on her screen.

A few hours later, Malone sank down into the seat beside her, pulled up the coding window on his work station, nudged his elbow into hers. "Heard you and the boss are doing couples' therapy."

"Just therapy, Mal," she sighed. She would roll her eyes at him but the last few hours of staring at the screen had given her a severe headache. It hurt even to move her head, made her a little dizzy, so she didn't turn to look at him.

"I hate therapy," Malone muttered. "Poking around in my head detonating bombs best left buried."

She laughed, winced as it echoed in her skull. "I'm with you there. But it's been - good for us. Good for Castle, at least."

"Not good for you?"

Beckett took a moment to pause the data stream and look at him, turning her head carefully. Malone was around her age, probably a few years younger, and he had a vitality to him that was incongruous with his usual slump at a computer. When he asked questions, he wanted direct answers; he was never one for small talk.

She liked that he plunged right into the deep end; she liked that she always knew where they stood. He didn't ask how her day was, didn't offer sympathy over a few days in Russia even though she knew he'd been on site in Germany as support for Mitchell.

So she was honest with him. "It's been good for me in the long run," she said. "I've been in therapy before, and we've got a long-time relationship with this guy-"

"Dr King, right? He's good. Doesn't do all that manipulative shit that some other guys here do."

"Other therapists?"

He shrugged, which meant yes, which meant Malone had been forced to go to one of those guys. "Whatever. So if therapy's good, what's eating Fearless Leader now?"

Kate scanned the room and saw Castle standing near the front, a hand on his hip as he looked at someone else's work station, his face blank. She knew he was unsettled, but Mal? "How can you tell?"

"He's very careful. Everything in its place, face neutral, economy of movement." Malone brushed his hand along the screen and typed in a string of code she couldn't keep up with, watched the whole desktop reconfigure in front of her eyes. "I was over there, you know. And when he woke up - he was a man possessed."

When she'd been missing. Lost in a cave on the Russian steppe. "Yeah, I can imagine."

"No, I don't think you really can."

She felt her mouth drop open as she stared at him, the rush of shame so hot that her palms were damp. "I-"

"Don't need you to explain." He shrugged again, turned to his screen. "Thought it was something you should know."

If Mal thought that Beckett had no idea the extremes to which Castle would go to get her back - _had gone_ - then Beckett probably had no idea. Whatever she imagined, it was worse, had been worse.

And she was shoving so hard against Castle's restrictions, his _concern_, that it was destroying whatever fragile control he'd mastered over his fears.

"Thank you, Mal," she murmured, her eyes locked on Castle.

"Yeah, whatever."

She hadn't meant to make it harder on him. Being stronger herself was supposed to make it _easier._


	12. Chapter 12

**Close Encounters 11**

* * *

Beckett cornered Mitchell down in the guts of the office, squirreled away in the support staff's cramped kitchen. He was rooting through the fridge, searching for a snack she guessed, and she closed and locked the door after her, kept her mouth shut as he turned around, surprised.

"Oh, Beckett. It's you."

She watched him a long moment, studied him, and he gave her a strange look, went back to the fridge. He grabbed a yogurt - which she knew for a fact was a woman named Annie's - and then he ripped the lid off and pulled a spoon from the drawer beside the fridge.

"Hey. Beckett. What's with the interrogation tactic?"

Right. He was an agent - a good one - and even though he knew what she was doing, it was still working. He had opened his mouth first and now he kept rambling.

"Looks serious. What's up? Did Castle say something to you about Black? Because I swear, I had no idea how psycho he was about you. He said his father tried to _kill_ you."

She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded towards the narrow table against the wall. Mitchell immediately sat down, taking a bite of his stolen yogurt, but he used Castle's move and pushed the other chair out with his foot.

"Okay, so you wanna talk. Come on, then. Talk."

She stalked towards him but didn't sit, leaned her arms against the back of the chair instead. "When Castle was in the hospital. Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"What you saw. His state of mind, physical health. Vital stats here, Mitch. You know the drill. Report."

He narrowed an eye at her, dug another spoonful of yogurt from the plastic cup, using interrogation techniques himself. But she could do this all day, wait in silence until he spoke; she was already just worn out enough from the week's non-stop movement and today's intense therapy session to actually revel in the break - to do nothing for a moment.

And then Mitchell set aside the yogurt and all his flippant attitude was gone. "He was a wreck. And it wasn't because he nearly lost that leg."

She took a deep breath, kept her mouth shut and waited for more.

"But the physical? That's easiest. He'd opened up a previous injury on his inside thigh with what looked like shrapnel. He had debris in his muscle tissue that they didn't find until after he'd gotten a blood infection."

"Not good," she murmured, her stoicism broken.

Mitch grimaced. "Yeah. You're telling me. He was hallucinating, yelling for you, and then he'd get really quiet and scary pale, and that was when - it was bad. He'd just call your name in this low voice, so pitiful-"

"He's not pitiful," she bit out. She didn't want that image in her head; he was never - he was always so strong. He was her super spy.

"It wasn't like it was easy," Mitchell muttered. "He'd wake and not know where he was, wouldn't even be speaking the right language - talking jibberish or Urdu or some Farsi dialect I don't even know."

She squeezed her hands into fists with her arms crossed, pressed against her ribs tightly to keep it together.

"When the antibiotics kicked in and the sepsis abated, he woke and demanded to know where you were. Only..."

"You didn't know." He gave her a sharp look and she shook her head once. "Not an accusation, Mitch."

"We didn't know. Honestly - you know what I thought. Black had brought in Castle on that light craft - which is technically impossible to fly with that much weight - and then he'd gone back with a different copter but he never found you again."

"Did he actually go back?"

Mitchell tapped his finger once against the table and glanced to the corner of the room. She felt her spine stiffen and realized, stupidly, there were cameras in here. If she asked a question like that and Mitchell gave his honest opinion - or even the truth - if it was bad, it could get ugly for them both.

Black could always come back. She wouldn't put it past him.

Beckett bowed her head to the table and let it go. "Castle."

"He attempted escape four times. The last time he got as far as the tarmac before I found him. He was going to fly a fucking plane into Russia."

She nodded tightly. "He told me. I didn't realize he was that bad off."

"He was having headaches at that point - from the concussion - which caused white spots to flare in his vision. He admitted as much to me later. But he was still going to fly a plane off base, get himself blown out of the sky before he even got to Russian airspace, the idiot."

She swallowed hard. "Thank you for stopping him."

He shrugged. "I betrayed him. I let his father drug him into oblivion for the next three days until the concussion was gone. You know Black and his fucking regimen."

Kate went rigid. She stared at Mitchell, his last words echoing.

"Are you - on the regimen?" she whispered.

"What? No, you know. The shit he pumps into your boy. All that healthy living, vitamin stuff. Advanced research voodoo. Whatever."

"Voodoo."

Mitchell frowned at her and his eyes carefully went blank. She sat up straighter, realized it was over, done. He'd say nothing more inside these walls.

Her hands were trembling; she wanted to rage. Wanted to yank him up from the table and make him talk, explain, keep going.

But he was right; the walls had ears. Eyes. They weren't alone.

"I appreciate what you did for him," she said, closing it out, keeping her voice even. "What you did for me. Thank you."

"No problem. He can be quite convincing." Mitchell's tone was neutral, but his hand reached out and squeezed hers, something more than just comrade acknowledging a comrade.

She gave the best smile she could offer and stood, pushing back the chair. "I'll let you get back to raiding the fridge for other people's snacks. You should come over to dinner sometime. You and Malone both. Let us say thank you in style."

He grinned at her with that lazy and seductive charm. But it was an act, a false front that Castle himself used so often, and she saw through it straight to the question in his eyes. He didn't understand why she'd asked about the regimen, but he was willing to share.

"I'll come over for dinner any night. You cook, darling?"

"Hell, no. That's Castle's job," she grinned back. She could banally flirt with the best of them.

"Guess that'll have to do," he sighed.

"Better than stolen leftovers," she smirked, nodding towards the fridge. "I'll call you."

He saluted and she left him alone in the break room, her mind spinning. There was something about that damn regimen, some not-so-secret secret that Mitchell knew but which he didn't think he should be opening his mouth about inside the office.

She was going to find out what it was.

* * *

Castle found himself with a too-quiet Beckett on the drive home, reached across the console to stroke his fingers along her knee. She was behind the wheel today because he could tell she'd gotten restless, needed the control, and he was a civilized guy with enough therapy under his belt to let go for an hour, give her the chance to get herself together.

She closed her hand on top of his and squeezed, their fingers lacing. He pushed his gaze to the passenger window, but her low voice had him turning his head back to her. He was reminded that he still hadn't done his homework - find a way for Kate to reassure him that she wasn't pushing herself too far - and then he realized he was missing most of her words.

"I'm sorry," she was saying, her jaw clenching and releasing. She was studying traffic intently.

He stared at her. "What did you do?" Was this a preemptive apology? Was she about to-

She laughed and looked at him, shook her head as she cut her eyes back to the snarl of rush hour traffic. "No, it's what I've already done, Castle." She wound her hand back around his and brought it to her lips, kissed his knuckles softly. "What I keep doing. I don't mean to break you."

He huffed and flexed his fingers against her grip. "I'm not broken, Beckett."

"I keep pushing you," she said quietly. There was such resignation in her voice, a kind of bone deep weariness that he didn't like at all.

"You're good for me. Pushing me is good. Otherwise I'd still be the guy following orders without question, doing whatever my asshole father asked."

She flashed him a look for that, a bitter smile that touched a concern in her eyes that he didn't understand. She pressed his hand into her abs and took a deeper breath, like she was steadying herself.

"I keep telling you to let go, to be brave, but I don't do the same," she said. Her ribs caught at his hand and he splayed his thumb up to stroke the breathing edge of her ribcage, trying both to soothe and to encourage her to continue.

"I think you're brave," he said.

"Not brave enough to let go," she said quickly. Her eyebrows knit into a frown. "Not brave enough to let you... hold me up. Let you do for me when I can't."

He didn't know what to say to that. She was hard-headed and stubbornly insistent on doing it alone, had always been, but he thought he'd gotten a handle on that once before. "When you were shot..."

She sighed. "Case in point."

"No, but I think we found a way. Didn't we?"

"Was it a way or _my_ way, Castle? I think I just shut you out until you ran away from me and I got desperate enough to seduce you back into bed with me."

He choked on a laugh and saw she gave an answering smile as well, tension melting from her. They were hopelessly embroiled in traffic, but she kept her eyes straight ahead. He could deal with that; she needed to be clear-spoken and for her that came with distance.

"Okay," he admitted. "So I did... leave you to it after you made it clear I was hindering more than helping."

"I didn't meant to hurt you."

"Well, you didn't break me," he repeated. Hurt, sure. But he'd hurt her as well. "That was so long ago. We were different people."

She sighed. "I hope so. I hope I'm not doing that now. Fighting against myself just to fight against you."

"I don't think you are," he said quietly, but he didn't feel certain. Sometimes...

"I don't like being weak," she rasped. He saw her head shake shortly against it, the spill of tears threatening but which she'd never let herself succumb to.

"I know you don't, love."

She was chewing hard on her lower lip.

"Kate," he insisted. "You're not weak to me."

"Yes, I am. I can see it on your face. And I hate that. Back then, after I was shot, I didn't want to be weak in front of anyone. Now - I don't care. Mitch could see me fall on my ass at the obstacle course training; Mal could see my hand shake at the range. But you?"

"Why me?" God, that hurt. Shit. Other people could see her weak but not him?

"Every time I falter, it _kills_ you. Do you know how damn ironic it is to finally be at a mental space where it's actually not as important to me what everyone else thinks of my abilities, my capability? But only to discover that it's _more_ important what you think?"

Oh. Well. That was... better. Right?

"And not because I feel I have to prove myself, but because it _hurts_ you. God, I feel like I carry not only the weight of my issues but yours as well, Castle."

Well, shit.

She shook her head again and squeezed his hand harder. "No, not - not like that. I didn't mean like... it's still my own messed up head. I feel responsible for the grief I put you through all because you're with me."

"Kate," he cut her off. "Kate, all because I _love_ you. If there's any grief or if it kills me to see you so broken, it's only because I love you."

She sighed and he saw her lips twist in that resignation he didn't like. "Exactly," she whispered.

Oh, damn it. Back to that again. This idea she'd gotten from her mother's murder, from her father's plunge into alcoholism, from the men in her life who'd betrayed her - this idea that she broke the ones she loved. Somehow Castle had only reinforced the idea that loving her was damaging, that loving her was going to break him - because he went all out when it came to her, because he'd do anything.

He thought they'd dealt with it in therapy _last_ time. Three years ago.

"Kate, don't you love me?" he said.

Her caught breath, the choke of her voice as she gripped his hand, the way the car jerked to a halt inelegantly behind the truck in front of them told him he'd hit her - and below the belt.

"Castle," she gasped. "Of course. Of course I love-"

"I remember you crawling into my hospital bed after I got stabbed and curling around me," he said quietly. "I remember you taking me home to your father even though you were scared to death of how fast I'd gotten serious about you. I remember telling him that I was going to marry you and how you didn't deny it, how your face lit up despite yourself."

"Rick," she whispered.

"I remember how jealous you were of that flight attendant who spotted me in the city, how you laid claim to me and dragged me home."

She sucked in a little laugh; he thought he saw her cheeks flame.

Speaking of. "I remember running up the stairs in a house in Copenhagen, knowing you didn't have a weapon and two guys with automatics had gone up after you. I remember hearing them scream and staring across the wicks of their bodies as the whole house caught fire around us-"

She wasn't laughing now; her eyes were deep wells as she looked at him, traffic forgotten.

"I remember how you looked at me, how for one second I thought, I'd hurl myself across the flames for her if it meant this was it. And how with just a flash of your eyes, you told me all I needed to know. I remember you turning around for that tool room, and I realized your plan, hoped you were looking for a window, and then I remember seeing you up there, trying to get a ladder to you."

"You saved my life," she said quietly. "I thought that was it, but I couldn't let you..."

"You couldn't let me die with you."

She shook her head.

"I know the feeling," he murmured. "The boxcar in Paris. I remember how you took it all on yourself to get us out, how you nearly lost your fingers to frostbite because you wouldn't stop trying to work open that vent, wouldn't stop blaming yourself for a plan that went wrong."

She let out a sigh, her mouth in a thin line. He knew they were always going to see that differently.

"I remember opening the back of that ambulance and finding you alive and thinking I was the luckiest asshole to ever live, and how the police detective was shaking his head at us."

She cracked a smile then. "He thought I was the mafia princess who had corrupted you, an undercover cop."

He smiled back, shook off her hand to trail his fingers up to her neck, to the veins and tendons that stood out when she was stressed. He traced the path of one and felt her pulse just below her ear.

"I remember you opening your eyes to me in a cave in Russia and crying, so relieved, and telling me, _I knew you'd find me_. And you'd believed it as wholeheartedly as I had, without doubts, knowing that if I was alive, I'd do anything to get back to you, just as I'd known that you'd do anything to survive until I could."

"Castle," she groaned, her hand coming up over his at her neck, pressing her cheek into his touch.

"I remember making love to you and accidentally telling you those three little words and how you laid over me afterwards and in that sleepy, quiet voice you asked, _You love me? _And I couldn't hold it in, couldn't stop myself, and I said, _Yes, Kate, I love you_. But you'd already fallen asleep."

"I don't remember that," she whispered, and her head turned towards him, her eyes shining. "And I might not have been able to say it then, but yeah, Rick, I loved you too."

"I know." He did now; it wasn't in question. In fact, all of this was because of how they loved each other. "Yes, it gets to me - nearly losing your fingers to frostbite or Vadim's smashing his fist into your face. But I carry that responsibility of your love too, Kate. Of being responsible for my actions because of how you love me."

She was shaking her head against his hand again and he tangled his fingers in her hair as if he could stop her argument before it started.

"Kate, I chose the right way - the responsible way - when I didn't fling myself into the flames after you in that house in Copenhagen. I'm responsible when it comes to myself because you love me, because it makes a difference to you what happens to me. But I was wrong when your apartment blew up. Wrong to play dead. That was the worst choice I could have made, love, and look what happened."

"Okay," she rasped. "I got it. Okay."

"I pushed it too far and I broke you-"

"I'm not broken," she said, and though her voice was rough, there was a ghost of a crooked smile on her face.

"Neither am I," he answered. "But that part of you that's more intense and visceral and maybe a little ragged? That depth you have that I'll never reach the bottom of. It's what goes farther and stays alive for thirteen days and refuses to quit, and yeah, bleeds out in a bathtub and gets on her knees in an alley because she loves me."

"That's not your fault."

"Maybe not. But it's why I fell in love with you in the first place." He quirked a smile at her even as she pulled the car forward to the light. "And yeah, baby, you're sexy as hell and so gorgeous it hurts, but it was all that passionate ferocity, all that _more_ that I couldn't keep away from. No one has ever given me so much. And so I'm going to do anything - anything - to have you."

She pressed her lips together and released them, blowing out a breath as she turned to look at him again. The heel of his hand brushed her chin as she moved her head, and she nudged into his touch, seemingly at a loss for words.

"It kills me when you're ragged," he admitted. "But watching you struggle back up, it's part of the glory of you. Part of what feeds everything else. It's an unending circle, and maybe it makes us a little wretched at times, but it also makes us unconquerable. You and I? Kate, we always win."

Her smile spread slowly in the palm of his hand, her lips wide at his skin, and he cupped it like a supplicant at the altar, catching the overflow.

And then a car horn blared violently and she startled, laughing, her eyes going back to the traffic ahead of them. A hole had formed, a space had cleared, and she expertly maneuvered the Range Rover towards home.

* * *

Kate found a parking spot a couple blocks over from Broome, and even though she knew Castle didn't like leaving the Rover on the street, he didn't seem to mind tonight. Probably he was making concessions because she was tired, because their conversation in the car felt like a fight and a declaration of love both, their hearts picked clean by marauding emotions.

Or at least, hers did.

He laced his fingers with hers as they crossed the street and went up the block towards their house; she saw him checking blind spots in the windows of passing buildings, saw him alert and aware, ever ready for trouble.

He made her feel safe even when she didn't think she needed or wanted it.

She wanted to make him feel safe too.

Castle pulled his phone out at the bottom of their stoop to disarm the alarm system and remote unlock the doors. She gave him an amused press of her lips for his showing off and opened the door, felt his hand come to her shoulder to guide her inside. He locked the door behind him and set the alarm for occupancy, and Kate dropped her keys and phone to the entry table, scanning the room for Sasha.

The dog came lumbering down the stairs towards them at just that moment, and Kate went still, waiting on her, anticipating her next move. Sasha's tail swished when she got to the landing; she poked her muzzle through the bars and licked the air, whining.

Kate laughed and came closer, reached up to stroke back from the puppy's nose, between her eyes even as she wriggled in pleasure. "Hey, Sasha, we're home."

She saw Castle on the stairs already digging at the knot of his tie, one hand trailing across Sasha's back as he went past her. "Can you take her out? I want to change."

He was being brave, wasn't he? "I will," she promised. "Come on, puppy. Daddy's too tired to play."

"Hey, now," Castle called back from the hallway. "I heard that."

"You were meant to."

Castle mumbled something from overhead but Kate withdrew her hand and stepped out of her heels, calling to the puppy softly to have her come. Sasha made quick work of the stairs and bounded to Kate's side, body wriggling happily at the thought of going outside. She must have just woken up; she was both enthusiastic and still yawning.

"Come on, let's turn you loose, huh?" She popped her toes on the linoleum, the kitchen dim at the close of day; it was getting cooler already, summer disappearing, and when she opened the back door, a gust of wind brought the smell of rain inside.

Sasha whined but slinked outside, her ears driven back, and Kate remembered the puppy crawling into bed with them when they'd first gotten her, how thunderstorms made her irritable and defensive. Sasha didn't like to sleep in the bed, but when it was nasty outside, she couldn't help needing to be close. She was more wolf than dog when the air was charged like this.

Kate stood at the back door, hesitating, but she forced herself past the threshold, her toes on the plain concrete of the back stoop, watching Sasha nose around the contained yard.

It wasn't much - a square of grass bordered by sidewalk, looking like the previous occupants had wrested that green out of the concrete jungle. She supposed there had been a building between theirs and the duplex behind them, but that its age or condition had caused it to be torn down. Since the alley access was long gone, the secluded square of land made an ideal backyard. She was surprised, actually, that their neighbors hadn't claimed it long before.

Actually, she thought maybe the former alley came along the side of their house; if she remembered right, there was a narrow, close passage that theoretically could go to the street. But in her mind's eye, as she tried to recreate the front from the sidewalk, the buildings were right against each other - no outlet big enough for a human.

Kate sank down onto the back patio, hooking her arm around her knees and staring out into the distance. The storm was close, and the sky was grey and heavy; it smelled faintly of burning wood - like the lake when it rained - but with a chalky taste at the back of her throat from pollution.

She sighed and scraped a hand through her hair to pull it off her neck, let the cool breeze push goose bumps over her body. She heard Sasha growling, that low and unamused noise the dog made when the wolf in her came out, and Kate closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to her knees.

It was fine. Sasha just didn't like storms. The pet rescue had thought that she'd broken her leg during a storm upstate, stranding her in the deer stand where the hunter had found her. So really, Kate and Sasha's reactions to trauma were the same - defensive, aggressive, ill at ease. Too bad it made Kate feel like the heavy, grey sky was a ceiling of rock overhead, that the hard concrete under her was a damp and dank cave floor.

The wolf's growls went on and on, and Kate finally had to press her hands over her ears and listen to her own breathing in her head, the echo of its too-fast rush and the thump of her pulse in her palms. She didn't want a panic attack tonight, not after that talk with Castle, and she worked hard to ignore it.

A sudden dizziness swamped her so quickly that she didn't see it coming. Kate fell over onto her left elbow, stunned to find herself sprawled against the back patio, opening her eyes as the first drops of rain spattered her cheek. She groaned as the world tilted, planted her hands flat to the concrete to keep it still.

Whoa.

What was that?

This wasn't the same as the panic attacks. Those closed down her senses, made the world black and tinny, made it impossible for things to get through to her. This was like the earth itself had flipped inside out and thrown her, bucked her right off its back.

She blinked hard and slowly sat back up, felt the blood trickling down her elbow and the indentations of pebbles and grit in her skin. She brushed her arms off with shaky fingers, still felt that dizziness in her guts like it might make a return.

There'd been a few times - out on the Russian steppe - that she remembered feeling like this, but she'd chalked it up to exhaustion and malnutrition.

Her heart chugged strangely in her chest and she closed her eyes, felt the sky rippling overhead and the rain spitting now, fat drops like tears. But she wasn't having a panic attack; she'd felt the sensations coming, and she'd done the breathing and the focusing, and she'd staved it off. This wasn't irrational fear, wasn't desperation - this was something else.

She'd pushed it too hard this week. The sparring and the therapy and work - and then today more of the same. She was supposed to go to physical therapy tomorrow, but her PT still hadn't called her back and maybe she'd hold off. Maybe she'd sleep in tomorrow morning and let her body rest.

She blinked as rain hit her lashes and cheeks, opened her eyes again. She stood when she felt like she could, thoughts swirling, but everything came back to just one idea: she couldn't get pregnant if she was still unhealthy.

She had to be better than this. She couldn't be falling over in her own backyard and fainting because she'd gone to work all week. She didn't want to endanger the little guy either - what if she got pregnant at some point in all of this and lost it because she was stubborn and had ridiculous expectations for herself?

Castle was right. Not just because of whatever potential child they wanted sometime in the future, but because she had a responsibility to _him_ - to the family they already were - to be better than this. And for the first time, _better_ didn't mean not weak. Better meant knowing when she needed help and being willing to sit down and shut up. Better meant knowing and accepting some very real limits.

Kate let out a slow breath, her churning guts beginning to settle, the dizziness abating, and she smiled as she felt the sky in torment overhead. The rain splattered in fatter drops, no longer just one or two, but cascades of them, like tossing handfuls from the clouds. She tilted her head back and let it run down her cheeks and dampen her hair, and then she laughed and bounced on her toes, clutched the side of the house as her balance faltered.

"Sasha," she called out, still smiling despite everything. "Sasha, puppy, come inside."

She scanned the yard with the grin splitting her face, waiting to see that big body come bounding towards her, all eager puppy love, grateful to be gotten out of the rain.

"Sasha!"

But no dog.

Thunder moaned and shook from the sky and Kate sucked in a breath, staring at the empty yard.

Oh God, she'd lost their dog.


	13. Chapter 13

**Close Encounters 11**

* * *

He heard the thunderstorm crash outside and saw the bathroom mirror flare blue with lightning. He winced and glanced over his shoulder to their bedroom windows, wondered if Kate had gotten back inside before the rain had started.

Castle lifted his chin and studied his neck in the mirror, narrowed his eyes at the strip of scruff that had been itching him all afternoon. He'd been tempted to grow it out just for a change of pace, but he wasn't sure he was going to get past this initial stage.

Kate liked it though; in bed last night she'd scratched her fingers at his jaw over and over right when she was the most tired, her hand curled up under his chin. He loved that feeling, like she couldn't help herself, and so if the itch in his neck was distracting, he'd figure out how to handle it until the beard grew in.

Castle sighed and finished tugging his dress shirt out of his pants, threw it towards the closet, rolling his head on his neck. He ached in strange places, and he knew it was due to being perched on the narrow edge of worry all week, trying to be brave. But Kate had been doing mostly paperwork and computer searches, so it wasn't like she was pushing herself that hard.

If this was all it was, he could handle her type of recovery. He could take it gracefully. Plus he knew a few fun ways to de-stress _and_ let her feel in control again - there was that old friend, his black hood, and the fuzzy purple handcuffs she was always so clever with.

Oh, and the last time they'd gotten a little kinky, it was that-

The thunder crashed and boomed with a ferocious clatter through the house. Suddenly the door alarm shrieked painfully from downstairs, making the hair stand up on his neck as he felt the storm push its way inside.

Kate?

He jerked out of the bathroom and threw himself down the hallway, yanked his gun still in its holster as he scooped it off the stair railing.

"Kate!" he yelled, taking the steps two at a time as his heart pounded in time to the storm beating hard against the house. "Kate!"

A darkness hurtled itself at him before he even made the landing and he rocked back on his heels, nearly brought his weapon up before he realized it was her.

"Kate, what are you-"

"Oh God, Oh God," she cried out, her nails digging into the bare skin of his shoulders. She was drenched, soaked to the bone and still in her work clothes, her hair plastered to her face and her eyes wild. "_God_, Castle, Castle - I can't - I can't - she's not-"

"Hey, hey, slow down. Slow down, love." He cupped the back of her neck and drew her in against his chest but she fought him, her nails making vicious streaks down his back as she jerked him down the stairs. "Kate, hey now, what's-"

"I can't," she gasped, her body already turning away from his. Before he could catch her, she was hurtling out the wide open door, the thunderstorm pouring in the entryway.

Castle gaped after her, too stunned to move, and then the vicious brutality of the storm dumped a sheet of water inside. He sprinted outside after her, calling her name as he hit the stoop, slammed his hip into the railing with a curse, biting his tongue with the agony of it.

"Kate!" he bellowed, tripping down the stoop and onto the sidewalk. He was drenched in seconds, the wind lashing his hair into his face and making it impossible to see through the deluge. "Beckett!"

"Castle!" She came hard into him from out of nowhere, her fingers scrabbling at his naked torso and gripping brutally. "Oh God, she's gone. She's gone; I can't - I can't-"

He gripped her by the wrists, her skin clammy and slippery with rain, and he jerked her into him. "Kate. Slow down. Tell me what's wrong."

Her face was twisted, a tangled hank of hair snaked across her eyes. She writhed in his grip as if she couldn't stand his touch, and she shook so badly he could barely keep hold of her. Panic attack.

"_Beckett._"

She stumbled and broke his hold; she turned from him again, wrenching towards the street, but she fell to her knees, face blanched white, body crumpling. Castle lunged for her, scooped her up before her head could hit the curb, and she groaned.

"Kate," he whispered, scared shitless now and completely helpless to understand. Her panic attacks had never made her this - crazy. "Kate, what's going on? What's going on?"

She brushed a hand over her eyes and then her lids snapped open. "Castle. God, I can't find her. I can't find her and she's terrified - she's so _afraid_ - and I don't - it's all my fault - my fault because I couldn't-"

"Who? Who's afraid? Kate, love, take a breath." He sat her up and she struggled to her knees, pushed up off his shoulder. He followed her to her feet and she swayed, eyes slipping shut like she was going to faint, but she reached back and clutched his belt, her wet shirt slapping against his chest.

Her lips were blue.

"Breathe. I need you to breathe. It's just a panic attack-"

"_No_," she growled, jerking back from him. "It's Sasha. Castle, it's - I can't find her. She's gone."

* * *

"You're barefoot," he said.

She was shivering, her hair in her face, her fingers frozen as she gripped his elbow. He shoved her back towards the still-open door, realized he'd dropped his weapon on the stoop.

Shit.

"I lost her, I lost her, I lost her," she was chanting, pushing back on him, trying to get away.

"You're freezing and barefoot and you need to _sit down_, Kate."

He tried herding her back towards the door, but she ducked under his arm and he had to twist on the spot and grab her by the back of her shirt, wincing when he felt the seams give.

"I have to find her, Castle. I have to get her. God, she's got to be terrified. She hates storms." Kate struggled against him, pleading in her voice, her hand pressing hard against his shoulder as she tried to resist.

"I know; Kate, I got it. I understand. I'll-"

"It's my fault. I couldn't bear to look at her even though I knew she - I knew it made her upset and I-"

Castle scooped her up before she could take another step and he hauled her back inside. "Kate Beckett, you get in the damn house and _let me look_." He slammed the door on her and clenched his fist so hard he realized he still had his weapon in hand. With a muffled curse, he turned back around and wrenched the front door open once more, the alarm still shrieking, and Kate was standing there.

Crying. Silently. It flayed him alive.

She stared at him. He sighed and laid his weapon on the entry table, held up both his hands in surrender before her. "If you put your shoes on, Kate-"

She jerked towards the coat closet and a pile of running shoes tumbled out; she dug through a few and found her neon sneakers, pulled them on. He wanted to throttle her, wanted to wrap her in blankets and hide her away in their bed, but more than that, he wanted her okay.

So he turned towards the alarm panel and punched in the all-clear code, followed by the false alarm sequence. He was torn between the dog's safety and hers, but he wasn't sure she'd ever forgive herself if something happened to Sasha. So they had to find the dog first, and then they'd deal with whatever break she'd had out there in the thunderstorm.

Kate turned back to him with a sweatshirt in her hands, threw it against his chest. He just managed to catch it when she turned an apprehensive look to him. "I'm not crazy. I haven't lost it. I just - I panicked because she's out there alone and scared, Castle, and she's our - she's our puppy. And I lost her."

"Hey, we'll find her. She's just crawled into a small, tight space to wait out the storm. You know she likes to hide."

Kate nodded and he took the risk of yanking the sweatshirt on over his head, her face disappearing for a moment before he could see her again. But she wasn't on that hysterical edge of panic; she was shivering and blue-tinged and she looked like a drowned rat, but she was solid enough.

She reached for him, pushing her hand into the front pocket of his sweatshirt and hanging on. "We were in the back. But I think there's got to be access to the street, and I don't know - she was gone for... a while. I - I had some kind of..."

He jerked his gaze back to her as he reset the alarm. "What? You had what?"

She shivered and stepped outside into the rain again. She wouldn't look at him. "Just got dizzy for a second."

He reached for her elbow; shit, she was drenched and freezing. "Dizzy? Is that why you went down out there and nearly busted your head open on the curb?"

"Castle. We don't have time for this. Sasha is out there - it's been at least thirty minutes-"

He grit his teeth but she pulled out of his grip, headed around the house away from him, towards the neighbor's. She was a thin, bony figure of a woman, but she was also a warrior.

And he'd better stop fighting against her and start fighting alongside her. Because she was damn well going to get her way.

He'd get to the bottom of that _dizzy for a second _bullshit the moment they had their dog back.

"Kate," he called out, hurrying to fall in at her side. "First, let's check out the doorways and those basement steps of all the residences, okay?"

She shot him such a grateful look that it made his guts clench. Like he would've left her to do it alone.

"Let's find our puppy," he sighed, sliding his hand down into hers and holding on. At least this way he could be sure she wasn't going to faint again.

* * *

She could barely see through the storm, felt only Castle's hand hard around hers as they called for Sasha, his fingers bruising every time the wind whipped her hair around her face. The wet strands snaked and writhed, slapped her cheeks and got in her mouth and eyes, but she was the one who saw the dog first.

"Sasha!" she gasped, stumbling down the steps nearly two blocks from their own home. The dog was low to the ground, soaking wet, trembling, but trying to put a brave face on it.

Kate hauled Castle down after her, both of them tripping as they hit a bicycle chained next to the railing, falling towards the dog. Sasha yelped and whined at them, crammed tightly into one corner where the concrete stair met the wall, and Kate reached her first, laid her hands over the poor beast's panting body.

"Castle, your sweatshirt. Give me your sweatshirt; she's soaked."

She stroked Sasha's fur, flung the water off the ends of her fingers, went back and caressed the sharp rise of her muzzle. "It's okay, honey, you're okay. We're here; we found you."

She felt the damp sweatshirt at her shoulder and reached back for it, brought it over Sasha's trembling sides, wrapping her up. Castle muscled in past her, gathered the dog in his arms and stood. Sasha licked him weakly, chin and cheeks and lips, and Kate kept her fingers tucked into the dog's collar, couldn't let go as they mounted the steps up to the sidewalk again.

Castle carried Sasha the whole way home, slogging through wind-driven rain, their faces against the storm. Kate could feel every ache in her body now, the sting of her scraped skin, but she kept up Castle's pace, just wanted to get inside with the dog where it was warm.

At their own front stoop once more, Kate rushed ahead and pushed open the front door - which she realized they'd left completely unlocked. The alarm beeped at her and she used a shaking finger to disarm it, felt Castle at her back with the dog as he squeezed into the entryway.

"Put her in the kitchen," Kate said, nudging him that way.

Castle went without a sound and she knew he was furious with her, but she toed off her sneakers and shucked her soaking wet clothes, rubbing her thighs where the material had chafed as she'd run. The soles of her feet were raw, her skinned arm was letting her know it wasn't happy, but she followed Castle back through to the kitchen.

He'd grabbed a towel from the clean stack on top of the dryer down in the basement and poor Sasha was curled up in a tight little ball on the tile, ducking Castle's rough handling.

"Rick," she sighed, taking over the job from him. He sank back on his heels for a second, watching her swaddle the puppy, and then he made a noise in his throat and stood, dragging off his own clothes.

"I'll get you something dry," he rasped, leaving her in the kitchen in just her underwear.

Whatever. Not the time to coddle him.

Even though Sasha couldn't be called a puppy anymore, Kate still soothed her and cradled the dog in her lap, taking care to dry between the pads of her feet, wipe down her belly, smooth the fur at her ruff again and again as Sasha bristled with every clap of thunder.

"You're okay, wolf. We found you. Got scared, huh? I should've taken you back inside, and I'm so sorry. But you're okay now. I got you."

Castle reappeared in sweats and a black t-shirt, dropped yoga pants and a t-shirt for her onto the kitchen table. He'd included one of his plaid shirts as well, the soft one she loved, and it made her heart soften.

"I'll take her," he murmured. "You get out of those wet..."

"Panties?" she murmured, arching her eyebrow at him.

That remote, blank fury broke on his face and he sighed, but she could see she'd gotten him, made him laugh somewhere under that super spy shell.

She waited for him to sit down and take the dog from her and then she stood, leaning down to kiss the corner of his eye. "Thank you."

He was cradling the dog like a baby, like she'd been doing, and he only shook his head. "Kate."

"Let me get dressed. Then you can yell at me all you want."

"I don't want," he sighed.

She scrubbed her fingers through his wet hair, kissed him again, and turned to get her clothes.

* * *

Whatever fury he'd felt towards her had begun to recede as he'd carried the dog through the rain. He'd felt the shiver and shake of Sasha's body against his, the low whine in her throat, the way she kept licking his chin and neck in submission. As if to say, _Please don't leave me out here._

And he hadn't been able to untangle that impression with the last few miles with Kate on the Russian steppe, carrying her home.

So when she sank down on the tile floor next to him and propped her chin on his shoulder, her chest pressed to his back and her arms coming around his waist, the last of it drained away.

He took a hand off the dog's back and lifted it to palm the side of his wife's face, closed his eyes at the clammy touch of her cheek. She kissed his hand, his wrist, lifted her mouth to his neck and hummed so that the cool of her skin was offset by the heat rising in his.

"Kate," he murmured.

"I'm okay. The dog's okay. It was just an unfortunate confluence of events."

"Using the five dollar words doesn't make me feel better," he muttered. But it did. She was so smart it was sexy, and it helped that her fingers slipped under his t-shirt and stroked at his skin; it helped that he could smell him on her in that plaid shirt. "I can't believe you did that."

"Castle, I - the storm put the wolf in her and I closed my eyes. I just closed my eyes for a moment - a few minutes - and when it started to rain, she wasn't there."

"Not that. You. _You. _Stumbling around outside in a lightning storm with no shoes-" He bit it off, closed his eyes again, sank down into the warm feeling of the dog in his lap and his wife pressed to his back. "I'm trying to be brave, but holy shit, Kate, you're making me piss my pants with it."

She choked on a laugh that made him smile back, but she pressed closer, one knee shifting over his thigh like she was trying to share his lap with the dog. He huffed something at her and let go of her wet hair to draw his arm around her, keep her balanced, and the dog wriggled in the wrappings of the towel to greet Kate as well.

They were a hopeless, tangled mess but none of them would move apart.

"I don't mean to do that," she said, her mouth nudging his cheek, trailing a kiss. "It's not my intention. I couldn't find her. And she was alone. And-"

"I get it," he said heavily. Because he did. And therapy and working her ass off at the office with him and trying to get back into things because she didn't want to be that broken woman in a Russian cave. He got it. "Just..."

"I know."

He nodded and turned his head into hers, their cheeks bumping, noses nuzzling. He felt her breath against his lips and opened his mouth to say something else, anything, but she pressed a soft kiss to everything he might have said.

"Forgive me?" she whispered.

"Nothing to forgive."

"Love me?" Demure lift of her eyes, tilt of her head, innocent and guileless and seductive.

"That better not be a question," he growled, making her chuckle, her lips spread into a smile. "Because there's everything to love. You just braved - barefoot, I might add - a crazy thunderstorm to rescue our idiot puppy."

She gave a little caught-sigh of a laugh, pulling her face back from his to look at him. "And my brave husband. Carrying our idiot puppy home."

Sasha gave a whining yelp and wriggled between them, her damp tail flashing across Castle's knee. He grinned and turned to Kate. "She heard you."

"Heard _you_, you mean."

"Yeah, but you kept it going," he smirked.

She flicked her finger in his ear and hunched over Sasha, loving on her, letting the dog lick her face as she murmured nonsense into the those pointed, eager ears. Castle leaned back against the kitchen wall, his lap filled with - _sigh_ - both his girls.

"We need another male around here," he muttered. "Balance out this love fest."

She laughed and lifted her head to him. "Don't think for a second that a little boy wouldn't take my side in everything."

He narrowed his eyes. But yeah. That was probably how it would go. "You're irresistible. All the Castle males will fall all over themselves for you."

A faint current of unease slithered through his guts, the reminder that his father was still on a substation in North Africa, the station keeper giving Castle only terse replies to his queries.

"Don't go," she whispered suddenly, her arm sliding around his neck and drawing his gaze back to her. "Don't. Stay here with me."

"I'm here," he said.

She studied him, her fingers curling at the nape of his neck. "I'm hungry and we should eat one of your wonderful dinners, but can we bring everything upstairs and curl up in bed like we used to in my apartment?"

"Of course," he said immediately. "Everyone can stick close. We'll get warmed up again."

And the triumphant smile on her face made him realize they'd started something. A precedent. A tradition. Sometime in the future, it would be the three of them and another warm little body snuggled down with them, his only dinner a bottle at first, but over time...

His throat closed up and he crashed forward into Kate, wrapping his free arm around her so tightly that she gasped and murmured in his ear even as Sasha squirmed and whined between them.

"All of it," he whispered, didn't even try to make himself heard over the storm and the dog and Kate's words. "I want all of it with you."

He could be brave.

* * *

She'd known that Rick Castle was a man of depth when it came to his love for her, but she hadn't realized just how tender and wide that made his heart. He'd always been her badass spy, and she'd taken it for granted that he was badass in everything. Kate had struggled in the CIA because she couldn't compartmentalize that far, so the idea that Castle _could _when it came to the job but couldn't when it came to her...

She'd just never imagined.

Their dinner dishes were on the floor beside their bed but she wouldn't get up to take them downstairs, not just yet. Castle laid on his stomach with his head in her lap and his arms around her waist, and Sasha was snuggled up against his side; Kate was the only one sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard. She felt like the guardian of their little family while the thunderstorm waged war outside.

Castle wasn't asleep though; in fact, his eyes roamed the room, seemed to be hypnotized by the forks of lightning that licked the sky. Kate stroked her fingers through his hair, arranging and rearranging the flop of bangs over his forehead and the arrows down his neck. It'd grown longer and he hadn't gotten it cut yet; the ends were smooth and oily now from her fingers, soft.

She made designs on his scalp and traced her love in runes along his neck, scratched her fingers at the scruff growing in at his cheeks. She spread her palm to it, rubbed slowly to feel the rasp of it all the way up her arm and into her belly.

He gathered in a long inhalation, his whole body moving with it, and she saw his eyelids fall deceptively shut.

And then, just as she'd thought, he used the quiet to rumble a question out at her in the storm dark bedroom. "What did you mean - you were dizzy?"

Kate had no reason to hide anymore - all of her natural inclination to close ranks now meant curling in around him, the soft center of his generous heart. She felt her body tilting over his even as she formed her answer, felt herself canting towards him as if she could draw him inside her.

"I was doing a pretty good job of staving off a panic attack," she said quietly. The thunderstorm boomed, cracked straight through the house, and Sasha jerked in the bed but didn't whine. Still, Castle lifted his arm and encompassed the dog, shielding her.

"And then?" he asked.

She didn't need the prompt but it brought to mind once more how much she'd kept her mouth closed when it came to giving out these kinds of details - and it only hurt him, the not knowing, the wondering, the fear. "And then just when I felt better, more in control, I just - I fell over."

"That why your arm's skinned up?"

"Yeah. Thankfully, I'd already sat down outside, getting a handle on things. It was a wash of dizziness, Castle, and I could stand up after a second and it was fine. But then Sasha had disappeared and the lightning started and..."

"All that," he sighed. "God, I'm so tired. It feels like we've been at this day for _days_."

"One day for days?" she hummed, amusement filtering her voice. "I know what you mean."

"This whole summer has felt like that," he said, turning a little onto his shoulder so that he was looking up at her.

Kate skimmed her fingers down the side of his face as she leaned in over him, rubbing her thumb at his jaw, the sensation of his almost-beard making her insides feel raw. "It's been one thing after another."

"We're staying stateside for a while," he promised, lifting a hand to her in the darkness and playing with her hair. She went still as he fiddled with the ends, flipping it over and over his fingers, wrapping it around his thumb. It made her skin light up with sparks, shots of electricity right to her guts, curling her toes.

"I've got to re-train," she said finally. "And catch up on what we've missed. Mal was telling me about the network crash just last week."

"He's on top of it," Castle said quickly, dropping her hair. "But yeah. Yeah, you're right. I'm in charge and I need to damn well act like it."

"You're okay. That wasn't a slight," she defended, brushing her own fingers through her hair to put it behind her ear. He lowered his hand and turned back onto his stomach once more, his nose a hard line at her inner thigh.

"You know that guy from IT with the long hair?" he said.

"Bryce? Something."

"Him."

"What about him?"

"I think he has those photos," Castle said carefully, his words a mumble against her thigh.

She stroked slowly down his spine and back up again, his t-shirt wrinkling under her hand. "What photos, baby?"

"Of you."

"Of me?"

"And Vadim."

"Oh," she murmured. "Does that bother you?"

"Does it bother you?"

She curled her hand at his nape. "No, Rick. It doesn't bother me."

He sighed, his arms drawing in and propping him up to look at her. "It bothers me. Less now though. But."

"I know," she murmured. "Still, you knew Black would have someone as back-up."

"Used to be Deleware. I always knew what was coming with that squirrelly little son of a bitch. But Bryce was hired recently. I don't know him."

"So get to know him. Does he know about - everything?"

"I doubt it. Black doesn't let people in on the whole picture. As we've found for ourselves." Castle shifted in bed and sat up, making Sasha whine and nose her way closer. Kate moved to one side and Castle joined her at the headboard, patting his lap for the dog.

Sasha yawned and stretched, acting so nonchalant, and then lightning flashed terribly across the room and in a dart of pure panic, the dog was pressed hard into Kate's ribs, her head buried in the pillow between her and Castle.

"Oh, shh, hush, Sasha. You're okay." She curled her arms around the dog and petted her until the shaking stopped; Castle gave her an amused lift of his eyebrow. Kate had to bite back the urge to compare what she'd done for _him_ not minutes ago for what she was doing for the puppy now.

Who knew her badass spy was such a big baby?

"What do we do about Bryce?" he asked finally.

"Keep close. Keep an eye on him. The photos don't matter to me, Rick. But whatever he might be telling Black - that matters."

"I've put in a call to the substation where I sent him. I should be able to make contact with the keeper, see what the hell is going on over there."

"My guess is your father's got him wrapped around his finger," Kate snorted. "But we'll see. Honestly, Rick, if Black stays in North Africa and leaves Europe - and us - the hell alone..."

"But will he?"

She sighed. "I don't know."

Castle reached over and hauled Sasha into his lap so he could scoot closer to her, his head coming to her shoulder. She smiled to herself and brought her hand up to the side of his face, placed a soft kiss to the skin at his wrinkled, worried forehead.

"And Bracken," he added quietly.

"We're working on that already. Me and Mal went through some of the bank accounts today."

"Oh?" Castle murmured, lifting his head. Both eyebrows raised. "Because of the arms smuggler. Oh. Smart. That is _smart, _Beckett."

"I know," she said simply, smiling at him.

"Good, we'll keep on that. In fact, I might try to use Bryce on that. Bracken was my father's... nemesis for years. They hated each other; Black wanted so badly to assassinate him that he was willing to risk me to do it."

Kate went still, the thought revolving in her head. She hadn't considered that before. How Castle had been at risk in that mission when he'd been playing dead, how slapdash it was for Black, how he'd taken a chance with Castle's life just to murder Senator Bracken. And Black never took chances with his son's life.

This was serious. They were playing with fire involving Bryce in this. But. Bracken out there and free was a threat to their family.

"Okay," she said quietly. "Bryce. And he can feed that information back to Black and..."

"Maybe they'll damn well take care of each other," Castle grunted.

Kate pushed on his shoulder, rolling her eyes at him, but the idea held a grim appeal that she didn't want to look at too closely. "And you?" she asked.

"We damn well take care of each other too," he said, but he had a wicked grin on his face and a smile widening the lines at his eyes.

She really _had_ taken care of him, hadn't she? She'd broken him a little, made him ragged like he'd said, but she'd made it better too.

"We take care of each other," she agreed.


	14. Chapter 14

**Close Encounters 11**

* * *

When the storm had blown over and the moon came out, Castle untangled from her in the bed, easing away when she made a noise in her sleep. Sasha woke and followed him down the hall and into the bare extra bedroom, her tail swishing at the night time adventure. Castle opened the closet door and checked the safe, counting his extra weapons and all their passports and travel documents he'd stored there, and then he locked it up again and moved back out into the hall.

In their office, he repeated his safety-check procedure with the hidden safe that held their cover identities and alias passports, but it was as it should be. He opened his laptop and woke it up with a tap of the space bar, waited for the log in screen to load.

His password was a complicated combination that changed each month according to a code program he'd installed, and April had come and gone with him in Russia. He sat there for a minute as he tried to remember last month's iteration so he could extrapolate the new code from the old. It came to him slowly, too slowly, and he kept losing track of the formula in his head. He had to snag a scrap of paper and use a pencil, cursing himself as he did.

He was just tired. He should be in bed, but he needed to do this first.

When he'd finally signed in, the CIA portal popped up with his messages and memos, information pipelines channeled into a feed that even now was loading with new items. He scanned his email quickly, but there'd been nothing more from the keeper in North Africa. However, there was traction on his request to interview Viktor Bout - looked like it was going to be approved.

He read the missive quickly and replied back with a scheduling request now that some of the red tape had cleared. Bout would lead him to the money and hopefully plug a few holes in his Russian terrorist organization. And if he was lucky, there'd be some additional intel about possible channels for Bracken's dirty money as well. He felt better for having movement on this, since it was their open mission, and he went back to Bracken with some settled satisfaction.

With a click of a button, he was accessing Beckett's work station and pulling the files she'd gathered this afternoon, plus the results from the search she'd left running. He collated it haphazardly, sticking information in groups depending on how it struck him, knowing that Beckett and Malone had a painstaking system.

But he wasn't looking for structure and adherence to the box; he wasn't even looking for Beckett's leaps of clever, calculated insight.

He was looking for random. He was looking for the flaw in the machine.

Castle knew what it was to be the machine, and now he knew what a broken machine looked like. How it collapsed, how it rose up against its overlords - because that was what he'd done. He could judge the signs of imminent revolt better than he could find the legal connections that Beckett was going for.

Sasha whined at him and yawned widely, then she dropped to his feet and snuggled in. Castle leaned down absent-mindedly and scratched her between the ears, his eyes on the screen.

It was time to end this standoff with Bracken.

* * *

A few days after the spectacular storm, Beckett came home from a re-training session to find their home was empty. Even Sasha was gone. She stood still in the entryway and breathed as deeply as her bruised body would allow, and then she closed the door behind her and set the alarm.

She hoped he wasn't staying out long; she had plans for him tonight. Actually, she had plans for _them,_ and she hadn't told him because it was all supposed to be a surprise.

She checked the time and started dinner, the lamb she knew he liked best and which was easy enough for her to make without screwing it up. She put everything together in the crock pot and set the timer, glad she had a few moments alone to get ready.

She'd just shed her clothes and slipped into a hot bath when she heard her phone chime the alarm alert and then came the sound of the door closing downstairs. The dog barked as if to let her know they were home and Kate smiled to herself but closed her eyes, let Castle come find her.

"Oh, darn," his voice came from the doorway. She opened her eyes and lifted a knee in invitation.

"Not the response I was hoping for, seeing me naked," she murmured, her lips pressing into a grin.

"Oh, the naked _view_ is excellent. But I have a surprise for you and you're all wet."

"I know a surprise for me that would work really well with being wet," she said, not even subtle about it. Of course, the one night he had a surprise for _her_ and she was trying to do something for him.

Castle smiled that predatory smile and lifted up from the door frame, came sauntering into the bathroom and settled down beside the bathtub. "Is that ever really a surprise, Beckett?"

"No, baby, it's not. But I sure do love it."

He chuckled, his eyes silver in the light, reached out a hand to trace his finger on her raised knee.

She shivered and felt the humor begin to evaporate. "Why don't you save your other surprise for later and join me instead?"

"You just had training," he murmured. "I can see the bruises from here."

"I can take it," she shot back, an eyebrow to his concern.

"I know. But can I?"

She closed her mouth because that was a valid point as well. And she was done with pushing him past his endurance. That was her way of coping, not his, and she'd do what she could to minimize his grief. If he didn't want to push her, then fine, she could do without sex for a few days. Maybe.

His thumb landed at the inside of her knee, stroked softly as he studied her. And then the smile came back, that happy and childlike look in his eyes that she'd begun to see more and more lately.

"Relax in your bath, Kate. I'll be here when you get out," he promised.

"I can get out now," she murmured, ready for those promises.

"Surprise first," he insisted.

She narrowed her eyes at him - she was ruining a perfectly good bath for _sex_, not for whatever he was hiding - but he gave her only another stunning grin and she couldn't possibly ignore how much he wanted to share.

"Fine. Surprise first," she sighed, aware that her own surprise still waited. But she lifted her head from the edge of the tub and held out her hand to him, challenge in her gesture.

Castle took her hand and stood, pulled her to her feet and into his chest, the water soaking his t-shirt. He must have changed out of work clothes when he'd gotten home, taken the dog with him, and gone pretty quickly. She'd left early from the office for training at the center outside of the city, but it had gone for two hours.

Castle lifted her over the edge of the tub, a move that did actually surprise her, and she laughed and hooked her arm around his neck, let her body slide down his jeans and cotton shirt with that delicious friction.

He snagged the towel from the rack, wrapped it around her only to use it to tug her out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, her body still dripping water.

"Clothes, you'll have to put on clothes, Kate." He was already pulling open her dresser drawer and flinging a t-shirt her direction, a pair of jeans.

"Underwear," she demanded, wiping down with the towel as she shivered. She got a pair of purple plaid panties to the face for that and she laughed at the look he threw her, bent over to slip them on, giving him a view.

Castle hesitated in front of her, desire warring with excitement on his face, and she could see the moment desire trumped whatever it was he had for her downstairs.

"Okay," he growled. "Never mind. Let's-"

"No," she laughed, straightening up and moving away from him. "I got out of my nice hot bath for this - not for _that_ - and you're not having it now."

He sighed, watched her get dressed with his eyes hungry for her every movement, and if she hadn't just laid down the law, she'd abandon everything to make him wild with it. But no. She had a plan here tonight too, and she was saving that for later.

Castle reached out and took her by the belt loop on her jeans, drew her closer when she got them up over her hips. He nudged her hands aside and worked at the zipper himself, slid it slowly up when all she wanted now was for him to slide it down again.

He breathed a kiss against her cheekbone, another, buttoned her jeans for her, his body radiating heat, better than any bath.

"Come downstairs with me, love."

She nodded, ready to do anything.

* * *

Castle rocked on his toes as he rounded the doorway into the kitchen. Kate trailed behind him, putting out all kinds of smoky-eyed hotness, but he wanted her to see this first. Wanted to see her face without his own lust clouding the view.

He got to the kitchen table where he'd put the whole tray, and then he held out his hands with a silent _voila_. She turned to look and the stunned little laugh that popped out of her mouth was totally worth it.

"You - bought me a garden?" she asked, lifting her eyes to him and then back. She came forward slowly, her wet hair snaking down her back and soaking her t-shirt, and her hands reached out for the plants lining the tray.

"Like ours in Rome."

"You remembered," she sighed, her fingertips skimming the top of a cheerful green plant. The scent of herbs was redolent and rich, coming up at them in waves. "Castle, I love it."

His chest tightened with relief, and he leaned against the door frame. "It can be moved indoors during the winter. Makes it easy with these little planter things." He crept closer and touched the top of the tallest plant. "This is your basil."

"I can smell it," she murmured, drawing in a breath and closing her eyes. "Heavenly."

He grinned into the face of her pleasure, so glad he'd delayed gratification long enough to show this to her. "I also got rosemary and mint. And a hot pepper plant to spice things up."

She laughed and her eyes sparked open. "We can put it on the patio back there," she murmured. "It gets good sunlight."

He nodded and slid his hand to her lower back; she wrapped around him for a hug, effortless and warm, and then she turned to the plants still in their tight rows.

"In winter," he said, "I guess we need to find a place for them. The guy at the nursery said keep them near a window but not right up against it or the cold will seep in and kill them."

"Actually," she murmured, her fingers tracing delicately over a leaf. "The nursery is a good place."

The nursery was a... what?

She glanced behind them towards the stairs and it struck him like a bolt of lightning.

"Oh," he said. "The nursery. Our - the empty bedroom." She called it the nursery? All the time or just now? Wait. Did that _mean_-

"No, no, sorry," she laughed, shaking her head. "It's not a subtle way of giving you news. Just how I think of that space. I'm sorry."

Her fingers came to his waist, a sharp spark of awareness that threatened to pull his guts right out. The want returned so fast and thick that he bowed over and pressed his mouth to hers even as she opened it to say something. He stole her words, cupped her shoulders in his hands and drew her into him, wanted so badly to fill that room with more than a baby herb garden.

"Rick," she gasped.

"How you feel, Kate?" he murmured against her mouth, sipping again from her lips, again, needing it.

"Feel? Castle, I'm fi-"

He brought her closer, shifting his hips into her so that she groaned, clutching his shirt and panting now. "Kate, love, how do you feel?"

"Good, strong. I feel strong," she said fiercely. "Ready for anything."

"I want to try," he whispered, kissed the thin warmth of her eyelid as she moaned. Her sounds vibrated him like a tuning fork and he lowered his arms to her hips and yanked her against him.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and nipped at his jaw, her teeth scraping the scruff he'd let grow out. Her mouth was making his arms shake, his knees unstable, and he had to back her towards the doorway, drop them both onto the couch.

Kate snaked her hand between them and he gasped, grunted a plea into her neck as his hips sought her touch.

"Try what?" she whispered. Her tongue met his bottom lip and he turned his head to catch her but she was chuckling and moving on. "Try this?"

"Try. I wanna try us, try this, our family."

She ground her hips into him. "You wanna knock me up, super spy?"

Ah, shit. "Yes. Please. Kate."

"Let's try," she whispered. But then she pushed on his shoulders with both hands and held him off. "But first."

"What?" What could possibly be first?

"We've - uh - got plans tonight."

"I got plans for you all right," he murmured, sneaking in to press his open mouth to her neck, feel her shiver for him.

She groaned and clutched at his ears, but her knee came up between them. "You - we - have to get dressed."

"We have to get undressed."

"No, no," she murmured, but her lips ghosted his jaw. "Wait. I'm serious."

"I am dead serious too, baby. You-"

The doorbell rang and he jerked back from her; she was flushed and sexy and she looked completely disconsolate. At least she wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

"Tell them to go away," he muttered, moving in to rub his cheek against the v-neck of her shirt.

"Can't," she sighed. "It's all of our friends - our family."

"What?"

"Lanie, Espo and Ryan, and Mitch and Malone."

"Shit," he muttered against her skin, nipping at the slope of her chest where he wanted so badly to dwell for a few minutes, hours, days. "Are you serious?"

"Don't you smell dinner? It's been cooking since I got home and I invited them over-"

"Why would you do that?" he growled. "Tell them to go away. I wanna have sex with my wife."

She gripped his hair and tugged his face away from her; he winced as he looked at the flash of irritation in her eyes.

"For you, you ungrateful bully. For your birthday."

"It's not my birthday."

The doorbell rang again, longer this time, like whoever was out there was leaning against it.

"It's your make-up birthday," she explained quickly, shoving him off of her and getting up from the couch. She was in jeans and a t-shirt, and so was he, and it probably wasn't how she'd planned for this evening to go.

Well, him either.

"Make-up birthday?"

"I wanted to celebrate with our little family, and then later... I got something for you."

He perked up even as she went for the door. "You do?"

"Yeah. So be a good birthday boy and go change into something nice. Then we'll switch off and I'll get dressed while you entertain."

He followed her to the door and snagged her jeans by the back pocket, hauled her into his chest. She went gracefully enough, letting him know she'd let him, and then he pressed a soft, gentle kiss to her lips in thanks. "I've never had a birthday party before."

"You're killing me," she whispered, eyes so tender.

The doorbell buzzed angrily.

"Answer the door, Kate." He let her go and headed for the stairs.

* * *

She glanced across the dining room table to watch him laugh. The lines around his eyes and mouth were deep but beautiful, his face transformed as the laughter caught him. He was flirting with Lanie - the two of them hadn't talked much, and she was glad they were getting better acquainted. Lanie could be snarky with the best of them and it looked like she was regaling Castle with lots of stories that might or might not be true.

"Can't believe you made dinner," Mitchell said at her left side. Across the table, Castle chuckled again and shook a finger at Lanie, but Esposito was jumping in with something too. She hoped he was being nice; it was Castle's birthday. Make-up birthday.

"Well, I figured I should give him a night off," Kate smiled at Mitch. She wondered if this was the time and place he'd chosen to finally explain. "You up for talking?"

He gave her a raised eyebrow but sat forward in his chair. Jenny and Ryan were at Kate's right but they'd fallen down the rabbit hole with Malone, listening to his in-depth paranoia when it came to cell phones, and that gave Beckett and Mitchell some protective solitude.

"I know you know more about the regimen than you let on," she said quietly. She shot another glance to Castle and tried not to garner his attention. He was glancing back and forth between Lanie and Espo, looking amused. Trust that her husband would get the truth out of those two about their relationship; he always knew the best gossip.

Mitchell pushed his fork across his mostly empty plate and drew her focus back to him. He pressed his thumb into the sauce for the lamb and then put it in his mouth, such a strange gesture that Kate felt the hair rise on the back of her neck.

"He's like my brother," Mitchell said quietly. "Though I know he and Mark Eastman were - close. I looked up to them both when I first got to the Agency, so I saw - I know. Still. I'd never let anything happen to Castle."

"I know," she said quietly. The last few years she'd gotten to work so closely with Mitch and Mal and Mason - all of them together - and she knew what Mitchell would do, knew he saw Castle as an older brother who was, in the end, too cool for him. He kept trying though.

"When I came on, everyone knew about it," he sighed. He scraped his fork over the plate once more and then let it clatter down. "Everyone knew he was special. He got private attention from the instructors and managers were told to let him do what he wanted. He was the son of a god."

Kate laced her fingers together in her lap and tried to figure out why his words sounded so sad.

"We all knew he was on the regimen. Castle himself talked about it. About having to take shots or the extra skills training or whatever. There was this unspoken rule in our unit that you didn't confirm or deny. If Castle asked me, hey, how was debrief? Then I said fine and didn't explain."

"Explain?"

"That my debrief looked a whole different than his."

"Black told you all to keep separate from him?"

"He never said it. But yeah." Mitchell shrugged as if uncomfortable. "If I'd thought for a second it was harming him somehow... but it didn't. You see that, right? He's not sick or anything."

"No, he's not," she agreed softly. And the clumsiness she'd seen from him, the slow mental processing - that could all be a result of nearly dying from the infection in his leg and then having to haul her broken ass out of Russia.

"Black had him on infusions in Turkey," Mitchell said suddenly. "High doses. I've never seen him so - he wasn't sure. I don't think he knew for sure that it would work."

"What would work?" she said stiffly, felt her throat closing up. "Infusions of what?"

"The regimen." Mitchell rubbed the back of his neck. "He should never have survived. I saw him. Beckett, I saw the way he looked when Black flew him into Turkey and it was bad. He was - he'd lost too much blood and then the infection..."

"What are you saying?"

"Whatever is in it - whatever the regimen consists of - it saved his life," Mitchell said baldly. She'd never see him so unsure of himself, so knocked off his axis. He was usually as charming and suave as Castle could be, but not tonight, not now.

"How long?" she murmured, tried to keep from looking as shaken as she felt. Castle's eyes were roaming over their friends now, and she avoided his gaze, glanced back to Mitch with something like a smile on her face. "How long did Black give him the infusion?"

"At least nine days, that I kept track of," he said. His eyes finally lifted to hers and he gave a long sigh, a quirk of a smile back. She knew they both felt false.

"Nine days he was on some unknown - drug - and then...?"

"And then he woke up. He was transferred from the base in Turkey to Ramstein. You heard what happened."

"What 'happened'," she said flatly. "His rescue attempt."

"He was at death's door and then a day later, he's walking out of the hospital and onto the tarmac outside the airport."

"Oh," she murmured.

"Yeah, that regimen's some good shit. We put him under after that, to let him fully heal, but that didn't take long."

Kate rubbed at her cheek and tried to smile; she could see Castle watching her, contentment on his face, and she didn't want to go into it now. This whole thing. She wanted to celebrate his birthday with their friends and forget that his father had ever had a part in bringing them to this day.

She stood up and cleared her throat; immediately she had everyone's attention. "It's time for cake and ice cream," she said, smiling broadly. "Who wants what?"

* * *

Castle watched from the dining room threshold as Kate closed the door on the last of their guests. He could hear Jenny giggling out on the front stoop even as Kate turned finally to meet his eyes.

"Hey," she murmured. She looked tired but not exhausted, and he was grateful to see the dark and amused arousal in her glance. She wanted him, and she wasn't too worn out to do something about it.

Best birthday ever.

"Hey," he said back, trying to sound nonchalant. "Thanks for my party."

She hummed as she smiled and stepped closer to him. "You're welcome. You had fun?"

"Yeah," he said, couldn't help the grin. "I like Lanie. She's smart and she's sexy, and she's got Javier trained."

Kate laughed as she hovered a few feet from him. "You didn't call him Javier tonight, did you?"

He grinned even wider. "Not to his face."

"Good man," she murmured, closing the distance between them now.

"She's been a good friend to you," he said softly, sliding his hand to her hip and brushing across the fabric of her dress. She'd put on a simple wrap that accentuated the narrow span of her waist and the curve of her hips, the skirt just above her knees to highlight the forever length of her legs. She looked beautiful and it made him want to hold her.

"And Mitch to you," she added with a little breath.

"I saw you talking with him," he admitted. "He's - about as annoying as what I'd imagine a little brother to be, but he's loyal. He did a lot to help me find you."

"I know," she said quietly. But her eyes weren't tender, they were electric, and he suddenly remembered that she'd said she had another surprise for him after their dinner party.

He placed his other hand at her waist and tugged her closer, letting their hips bump. "Can I open my present now?"

She laughed, but it was throaty and caught somewhere, like she was struggling to remain cool. He didn't care about looking good; he wanted to taste her.

Castle dipped his head to touch his mouth to her neck, licked at the skin as he felt her pulse rushing under his lips. She shivered and her hand came to back, nudging their bodies closer. She tasted like blueberry ice cream.

"You think I'm your present?" she whispered at his jaw.

"Yes."

"Well," she said simply, as if she couldn't deny that. "Not your only present."

He jerked his head back to look at her. "You got me something?"

"Don't look so surprised," she chided with a laugh. "I got you something last year too."

"Yeah, but..." He just didn't know when she'd had time. And somehow it meant more, after Russia. Somehow anything more than having her meant... more.

"But nothing. It's your birthday. I bought it before," she said, a little roll of one of her shoulders like it didn't matter.

Oh. Before Russia. "What did you get me?"

"I hid it upstairs. Come on," she said, her smile growing wider now. She didn't have to tug him along, he was beating her up the stairs even as she laughed at him.

* * *

She couldn't help the giggle that burst out of her mouth as Castle stared at her from across their bed.

"You... you.. this is... you got me..." He swallowed and glanced down at the present she'd wrapped ages ago, the present she'd meant to have match the message she'd left for him on the bathroom mirror in eyebrow pencil.

"Yeah, I did," she said. She lifted her hands to the waist of her dress, fiddled with the place where it wrapped. She saw his eyes zone in on the movement of her fingers. "And it kinda fits, right?"

"Right," he rasped, swallowing again. "Fits."

He was watching her like a hawk; she slid the belt of fabric out of the way and let her dress hang open. Castle jerked like a puppet on strings but then he was hauling ass across the room and putting his hands on her, inside the dress so that it began to fall off her shoulders.

His mouth came to her jaw and traced a hot trail back to her ear. "You got me a sex toy, Kate Beckett."

"Rodgers," she breathed, smiling against his cheek. "Kate Beckett Rodgers."

"Rodgers Castle - anything. Anything," he murmured. His hands caressed her hips and slipped in under the waistband of her panties. "You look gorgeous, love."

"You're just saying that because I bought you a sex toy."

"I'm just saying it because you make me want to touch you all over. Because you look so strong and fierce standing in our bedroom with your dress half undone. Because you threw me a make-up birthday party and it was fun."

She felt the hot surge of arousal burn through her at his words, couldn't help pressing her mouth to the corner of his, tasting it when he spoke again.

"Because when you planned all this, you did it for _me_. I know you don't love having a bunch of people over. And you made my favorite meal even though I'm the cook. And you got dressed up and you wore those sexy heels I love so that you're right here where I can get at you. And all night, you teased me. All night, you made me _want_ you."

"I didn't mean-"

"Yes, you did," he murmured, sounding delighted and yet so dark.

She shivered as his fingers explored her skin. Okay. Maybe she had meant to. A little bit.

"I love you," she said into his mouth, touched her tongue to the seam of his lips.

He opened for her and his kiss matched the slow pace of his hands over her, her dress pooling at her feet now, her skin rippling with goose bumps. His mouth left hers and worked down her throat, stopping at her collarbone to nip and graze, making her hips cant into his, seeking more.

"I love you, too," he said then, his words lost to her skin.

She opened her eyes and saw the stars through the window in their bedroom, the actual stars pressed into the city skyline. She never saw this many stars here, never.

It seemed like a sign.

Kate dragged her hand up his back to grip the nape of his neck, angled his head to meet his mouth in a kiss that said all the rest.

Except one more thing.

She framed her husband's face with her palms and stroked her fingers in his hair as she pulled back, meeting the need in his eyes with her own.

"Kate," he husked.

"Happy Birthday, love."

"Oh, yes," he said, a smile deepening in his face. "Let's play with my toy."


End file.
